Fork In The Road
by Helen C
Summary: AU. Dawn never left in the Pilot, and Ryan came back to Chino for a while. Years later, he and Seth meet in Los Angeles. A SethRyan story.
1. Chapter 1

**Title** : Fork In The Road

**Author **: Helen C.

**Rating** : R (M)

**Summary** : AU. Dawn never left in the Pilot, and Ryan came back to Chino for a while. Years later, he and Seth meet in Los Angeles.

**Spoilers** : Everything is fair game.

**Disclaimer** : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Josh Schwartz. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Eternal gratitude to my beta, Joey51.

* * *

This is a Ryan/Seth story. If it's not your cup of tea, please be responsible and don't read.

* * *

**Fork In The Road**

Helen C.

_Chapter One_

"It will be all right," Mr. Cohen says as he makes his way to the car, Ryan in tow.

Ryan nods absently, noticing the faded grass in front of the old, dilapidated houses. He has always known that he lives in a "poor" neighborhood, but until this weekend, he hadn't truly realized what it means to be rich, what it means to live in a fancy home and have enough money to buy whatever is needed, without wondering whether the food is more urgent than the rent or vice-versa.

Until this weekend, the lives of the rich and the beautiful had been theoretical to Ryan. Sure, movie stars and TV characters lived like that, but he had never thought about lawyers and doctors and people his age living in luxury, and thinking nothing of it.

"Ryan?"

He smiles apologetically at his lawyer. "Yeah, sorry." Soon, the man will be gone, and Ryan will be alone to deal with Dawn and AJ. Ryan's stomach contracts as he tries to steel himself for what is to come. "Thanks for… you know."

"Don't mention it."

Ryan shoots an incredulous look at his lawyer, remembering his near desperation at the prospect of sleeping on the street, and his relief when Mr. Cohen accepted to come get him. _Don't mention it?_

"No, thanks," he insists. "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't let me stay at your place." Well, technically, Ryan has suspicions about what he would have done, and these suspicions are not exactly heart-warming.

Mr. Cohen looks at the house, where Dawn is probably still sitting on the couch, watching TV blankly and whining about the unfairness of life—as she did the whole time Mr. Cohen was there. He insisted on meeting her to talk about what was going to happen with Ryan's case, but Ryan doesn't think his mother listened to a word Mr. Cohen said. At, least, thankfully, she isn't passed out, or drunk, or stoned, otherwise Mr. Cohen would certainly refuse to leave Ryan here, and while Ryan isn't keen on staying here, it's not like he has anywhere else to go.

He knows his family life isn't exactly ideal—scratch that, he sometimes feels like he's living in a Dickens novel, with less filth and more comfortable clothes—but still, it's all he has. And things aren't so bad today. Dawn is semi-coherent and is, apparently, willing to take him back, which is all Ryan could hope for. _Two years_, he reminds himself. In two years, he'll be old enough to leave.

"You sure you'll be fine?" Mr. Cohen asks.

Ryan smiles. "Yeah. Sure."

"Well, we'll see each other in a few days to discuss your case, then," Mr. Cohen says, climbing in the car.

Ryan nods, trying to look more enthusiastic than he feels. "Thanks," he repeats. "Tell Seth I said 'Hi,' okay?"

Mr. Cohen looks grateful, and Ryan remembers again how isolated and lonely Seth must feel all the time, in his huge castle-like mansion, with no friends and parents who, apparently, work all the time.

Once Mr. Cohen's car has dropped out of view, Ryan walks back into the house, head down, hoping AJ won't be around later. Ryan is really not in the mood to go another round with the guy.

He sighs again before entering. His own house has always felt foreign and unsafe to him, but since Dawn met AJ, the vague feeling of unease has become a never-ending, gut-wrenching wave of fear.

Ryan hopes that Dawn will ditch AJ soon. Or that AJ will ditch her. Or that AJ will get arrested, or that he'll make enemies and will need to skip town. Anything to keep him as far away as possible, before he completely destroys what little is left of the Atwood family.

In the meantime, Ryan has to make it work here.

It won't be fun, but he knows how to keep a low profile, how to become invisible when need be.

He'll make it.

He can do anything, when he doesn't have a choice.

………………………

The next few months are remarkably uneventful.

Sandy Cohen keeps his promise and manages to keep Ryan out of jail.

Aside from a few slaps and punches here and there, AJ mostly leaves Ryan alone. Of course, the fact that Ryan doesn't sleep there anymore probably has a lot to do with that. Ryan hates nights—there's no way to walk in the streets, waiting for time to pass, during the night, at least not without attracting unwanted attention from the police, so he has found other ways to sleep outside without getting into trouble. Turo lets him sleep in his car sometimes, or he sneaks into Theresa's bed, or into old buildings when he doesn't have any other choice.

Anything to keep out of AJ's way.

He only goes back to the house to shower and eat, whenever he's sure AJ isn't around. He does his homework as well as he can, wherever he crashes for the night.

Dawn is never really sober anymore, and accuses Ryan of driving her to the bottle, but then, what else is new?

Trey keeps refusing visits from his family, except once, for Thanksgiving, when he asks Ryan to come and talks him into delivering a car to Gattas, which earns Ryan his first thorough ass-kicking in months, as well as a serious fight with Dawn and AJ, who are mad at having spent money on the hospital instead of on their booze.

Luckily, though, there are no broken bones, which is a small miracle, and aside from a few bruises, Ryan's injuries are easily concealed behind long sleeves, so no one at school seems to notice anything suspicious.

_And even if they did_, Ryan thinks, _they wouldn't care_. They'd ask him if everything is fine at home, and Ryan would lie, and they would leave it at that, like they always have.

He's becoming bitter, Theresa has told him so several times already, and he doesn't have the energy to explain to her all the reasons he has for growing bitter.

"Sometimes, you sound like your brother," Arturo told him once.

Ryan shrugged, said, "So what?" and Arturo didn't insist.

People rarely insist. All Ryan has to do is look at his shoes and shrug in a despondent way, and mumble something, anything, and they leave him alone.

Ryan stays out of trouble, goes to school, smiles and nods at his PO, and falls back into his old routine, as if that August night hadn't happened, as if Trey wasn't in jail.

The only thing out of the ordinary is Seth, and, by extension, the Cohen family.

Seth keeps insisting that they meet as often as possible and to Ryan's surprise, Mrs. Cohen actually allows him to come over.

Ryan can't help but notice that there's always an adult in the house when he and Seth play video games or lounge around in the pool, but he didn't expect anything else. From the beginning, the Cohens have struck him as protective parents. Sure, they don't seem to have a clue about what happens in Seth's life, but still, they don't harm him, they don't ignore him and they certainly keep an eye on him.

It has become a ritual by now—Ryan meets Mr. Cohen in his office, they discuss court dates or PO meetings, then Mr. Cohen takes Ryan to his house, where Ryan plays video games and listens as Seth rambles about his life and his dreams. Usually, Mrs. Cohen politely invites him for dinner, Ryan refuses equally politely, and takes the bus back to Chino.

The bitter part of himself can't help but notice that Mrs. Cohen always looks vaguely relieved when he leaves.

She's nice, all the Cohens are, but she's also guarded around him, and she tends to hover whenever Seth and Ryan hang out in the living room, whereas Mr. Cohen stays in his office and allows them some privacy.

Ryan can see the warning in her eyes. _Don't taint my son, don't expose him to danger, don't expose him to the ugliness of life outside of Newport._

Ryan doesn't feel strong enough to explain to her that life is hard for Seth in Newport too, and that he has no desire to make it even worse by sharing his too-vast life experience with the kid. Anyone who has had jocks pissing in his shoes for years and who can still be as innocent and, well, nice as Seth is, deserves to be protected at all costs.

In Newport like in Chino, Ryan keeps his head down, and waits until he's no longer on probation, waits until he's legal and can officially move out and try to do something with his life.

………………………

"Come on, man, stay for dinner," Seth begs, shortly after Thanksgiving and Ryan's encounter of the Gattas kind.

Ryan still has relatively frequent headaches, but thankfully, they're getting less fierce. He doesn't think he could deal with Seth's chatter otherwise.

The bruises on his face have almost faded, but he noticed Mrs. Cohen's disapproving frown, mixed with concern, when she saw him. He also saw Mr. Cohen shooting nervous glances his way, when he thought Ryan wasn't looking. The man is nice, and a good lawyer, but subtlety is not really his strong suit.

"Seth, I really shouldn't—"

"You've never stayed," Seth insists, cutting him off. "Mom keeps offering, and she means it."

Ryan isn't so sure. Mrs. Cohen may accept him into her house for a few hours, but it doesn't mean she likes him that much. He can't even be mad at her for that. He knows what he looks like, he knows what he is, and he can't blame the woman for protecting her family. He wishes his own mother was a little more like that, really.

"Your parents are nice enough to allow me to come from time to time," Ryan replies. "I don't want to overstay my welcome."

Mrs. Cohen's voice startles him. "You're not. We'd really like you to stay." He turns to her in time to see her smile a little hesitantly. "Please."

Ryan sighs and half-shrugs. "Okay. Thanks," he says, hoping this won't turn out to be a mistake.

………………………

For a minute, Ryan is afraid that Seth is going to self-combust in excitement. Then, he gets worried that Seth will choke on his food, trying to talk and eat at the same time.

The elder Cohens seem mostly amused, so Ryan assumes that this is normal behavior on Seth's part.

"Breathe, Seth," one of the Cohens says every once in a while.

"Yeah, yeah. So, Ryan…"

Eventually, Seth winds down to enjoy his food and Mr. Cohen whispers to Ryan, "Every day, we bless his teenager appetite," he says. "When Seth eats, he keeps quiet for a few minutes, and let me tell you, we do enjoy the blessed silence."

Ryan smiles, trying to imagine a time when even food wasn't interesting enough to keep Seth from filling in the blanks in the conversation. Blessed silence indeed.

As Seth is quieter, Mrs. Cohen starts talking about contractors who didn't respect their end of the bargain, then Mr. Cohen talks about his day in court, and Ryan sits back in his seat, enjoying the evening. He doesn't relax very often, and it's a nice change to enjoy a meal in the company of people who aren't likely to start screaming and insulting each other without warning.

………………………

"Sorry for the boring shop talk," Seth says, as Ryan is getting ready to leave. "You know the 'rents, always talking."

Ryan snorts a surprised laugh. "Right, cause they're the ones talking too much."

Seth shrugs, looking strangely bashful. "What can I say? Lawyer's son, and all that…"

"Hm."

Seth brightens. "So, will you come by for Chrismukkah? You have to, it'll be awesome, but really… will you?"

"What the hell is Chrismuwhatever?"

Naturally, Ryan's question sends Seth on a five minutes explanation of why Chrismukkah was created, and why it rocks so much more than all the other holidays, and why it will, one day, "sweep the nation," and why Ryan must, as it's his duty, participate in the celebrations.

By the time he's finished, Ryan's head is spinning, and Mr. Cohen guides him away, laughing softly. "Sorry, I should have warned you," he says. "Seth can be quite passionate about holidays."

Ryan bites back the "no shit" that wants to escape and nods carefully.

Mrs. Cohen is waiting for them near the car. She takes one look at Ryan and her lips twitch. "I see, from your glazed look, that Seth has told you all about Chrismukkah."

"Uh huh." Ryan nods, still slightly dazed.

"You're more than welcome to come over," Mrs. Cohen says, smiling and patting Ryan's shoulder awkwardly—the first time she has ever initiated physical contact of any kind between them.

"Thanks," Ryan says, already sure he won't take them up to their offer. He doesn't do holidays. Every year, he does everything he can to pretend they don't exist, and he plans on honoring _that_ tradition this year too. He'll take his bike and ride it in Chino until it's over. It's better, easier, this way.

"We'll let you boys work out something," Mr. Cohen adds. "You'll see, it's less overwhelming than Seth makes it sound."

"_Slightly_ less overwhelming," Mrs. Cohen adds with a tolerant smile.

She stands there as Ryan climbs into the car, and she's still standing, waving, when Mr. Cohen drives down the driveway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title** : Fork In The Road

**Author **: Helen C.

**Rating** : R (M)

**Summary** : AU. Dawn never left in the Pilot, and Ryan came back to Chino for a while. Years later, he and Seth meet in Los Angeles.

**Spoilers** : Everything is fair game.

**Disclaimer** : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Josh Schwartz. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Eternal gratitude to my beta, Joey51.

* * *

This is a Ryan/Seth slash story. If it's not your cup of tea, please be responsible and don't read.

* * *

_Chapter Two_

_Christmas 2003_

Ryan wakes up to moaning—an annoying sound that keeps him from going back to sleep, when sleep is all he wants.

Then, he registers the cold, and that's yet another thing making him uncomfortable, keeping him conscious.

Wonderful.

He opens his eyes to see only darkness around.

Not helpful.

And there's still someone or something moaning nearby, making Ryan wonder where he is, because he's pretty sure that his room would be quieter than this.

He uses his hand to push himself up, which proves to be a mistake.

He collapses on the ground, gasping, then rolls over as the wave of pain causes him to throw up.

What the…

At least, the moaning sound has stopped.

It takes a few minutes to his groggy brain to take two and two and come up with four—he was the one moaning, and given the fact that he just about passed out in pain when he tried to move, he must be injured.

Just great.

He stays put for a while, waiting for the pain to come down to a manageable level, waiting for the nausea to subside, and generally waiting for better days.

In the background, he hears cars slowing down, and speeding by.

Ok, so, he's outside. That explains why he's cold, and Ryan is proud that he made the connection between "cold" and "outdoor" faster than he realized he was the one making noise earlier.

That must mean he's getting better. Or, at least, more coherent.

Staying carefully still, Ryan tries to fill in the blanks, because he still doesn't know why it's dark, how he ended up outside, and why he feels like he was run over by a truck.

Searching his memories, all he can remember is Dawn, bitching about the dried Christmas tree she bought three days ago, and the ornaments she couldn't find anywhere in the house.

AJ was there, too, sitting in the background, drinking beer, occupying space—the only things he's really good at.

Another festive holiday with the Atwood family.

Ryan can't remember anything past that point, though. Nothing that could explain why it's now night time, nothing that could explain the pain he's in.

That's a little freaky.

Steeling himself for the pain, he starts to sit up slowly, ready to stop and rest should the pain become intolerable again. He doesn't think it would be such a good idea to pass out again, not here—wherever _here_ is.

It takes an eternity, but he finally reaches a mostly sitting position. Looking down at himself, he sees that he's still fully clothed (which is good), that there are dark spots of… something on his jeans (which is less good) and that his T-shirt is torn in places. Running a hand through his hair, he feels a caked substance near his right temple. _Blood_, he thinks grimly. It would explain the few hours missing from his memory. And the unconsciousness. And the headache, and the nausea.

Some careful prodding of his face makes him hiss in pain—great, he must look like hell, on top of feeling like it.

Nothing seems broken or irremediably damaged, though. He should be able to move—slowly, carefully, uncomfortably, but he should be able to do it.

Good thing too, since he's alone in the dark, in an unknown place.

His brain still foggy, he thinks for a long while, wondering what he should do now.

Eventually, probably after a few hours, given the snail's pace his brain is operating at, he realizes that all his thoughts lead him to the same conclusions. He needs to place a few phone calls, and that means that he needs to get up, and walk for a while.

Which is when his heart misses a few beats.

He'll need money to call.

He searches his pockets frantically—or as frantically as he can, given his battered state. He always, always keeps his wallet in his jeans back pocket—just in case he needs to beat a hasty retreat and doesn't have time to grab his jacket.

Ryan feels his backside, fighting panic.

Eventually, he gives up.

The wallet isn't there.

He lets his hand drop to the ground, defeated.

Mind blank, he allows life to stop for a moment, and wallows in his misery. Given the circumstances, he's certainly entitled to a five-minute breakdown.

When he emerges from his trance-like state, his stomach is tied up in knots and he's shivering.

Now what?

Grasping at straws, he decides to take a look around. However unlikely, it's still _possible_ that someone stole his wallet, took the cash and dropped the wallet nearby. He can still steal money, but he had a fake ID in his wallet and he may need it soon.

Praying inwardly, he rises slowly to his feet and starts looking.

After a good ten minutes, he's ready to give up when his foot catches on something on the ground.

Leaning down is even worse than rising up, if for no other reason than it makes him more dizzy and more likely to fall.

However, Ryan manages it, and almost cries in relief when his fingers recognize the rough leather of his wallet. He pockets it without looking inside.

Ignorance is bliss, and he needs bliss right now.

Another half hour later, Ryan has made his way to the side of the road. He's careful to stay out of sight for now, hidden behind bushes, but he needs some light.

Naturally, as he expected, there's no cash left in the wallet.

But at least his fake ID is still here.

According to that ID, Ryan Atwood, sixteen, is actually Ryan Spender, eighteen.

That ID was a gift from Trey, and Ryan has never regretted having it.

Exhausted, Ryan sits down, shivering. He should figure out what to do next, but he's too tired to do that right now.

Fragments of memories are slowly coming back.

Dawn, yelling. _"Well, that's the best I could find!"_

AJ, shouting, "_What the fuck are you looking at?"_

Dawn, calling Ryan's name, her voice far away.

_"You killed him!"_

_"He's just pretending."_

_"Ryan?"_

_"He'll be fine, damn it."_

_Typical_, Ryan thinks.

Last time he called Seth, the other kid was excited by the upcoming fictional holiday he had created—what was it named, already?

"It'll be great," Seth had said.

Ryan had tried again, then, to explain to Seth that Atwoods and holidays were an unhealthy mix, that holidays were traditionally awful and that a fictional holiday had the potential to be even worse, but Seth had been so happy that Ryan hadn't wanted to bring him down with his problems.

And now, here Ryan is, sitting next to a road sign, thinking that things have certainly hit an all-time low this year.

But, at least, certainly, there's nowhere to go but up, from here.

………………………

Three hours later, Ryan is in Corona, leaning against a phone booth, after yet another depressing discussion with his mother.

He had been wrong—things can always, always get worse.

Sixteen years, and it all ends with a whiny, _"Ry… I'm sorry, baby, really, but AJ said he didn't want to see you around here anymore. You're a man now, you're old enough."_

And so, for the second time in less than six months, Ryan has been thrown out by his mother. This time, all he has are the clothes on his back, his fake ID and the wallet he has stolen from a distracted businessman, so he could call home.

Ryan has gone through every possible emotion during his talk with Dawn; frustration, anger, sadness, shame, bitterness.

Now, he just feels empty. His brain has switched into survival mode. Analyze problem—find suitable solution. That's really all he has the energy to deal with.

He looks awful, he probably smells even more so, he feels like hell and the previously mentioned clothes on his back are ruined.

He has to avoid cops and social services, and he has nowhere to go.

Ryan grimaces as his stomach churns, either with hunger or fury. He refrains from taking his aggression on the phone. He has to act unsuspicious and he still needs to place some calls. He just hopes his quest for a shelter for the night will be more fruitful than last time.

Just as suddenly as it appeared, the anger is gone, replaced by a bone deep weariness.

Ryan looks at the phone, and pictures himself calling this friend, and that one, and Turo, and Eddie, and Trey's ex, the one who so desperately wants to get into Ryan's pants. Ryan briefly wonders if he could fake interest long enough to sleep at her place for a few days, then shrugs off the idea. She's insane, and he may be desperate, but he doesn't think he's _that_ desperate yet.

He recalls what his friend's answers were, the last time he needed a place to crash.

_"I'd love to but…"_

_"It's too bad but I really can't…"_

There's a reason why Ryan has spent the last months sleeping in cars and abandoned houses and buildings. His friends and their parents have long since understood that Ryan Atwood would need "a place to crash for the night" at least once a week until his eighteenth birthday.

Ryan really can't take any more punches, can't take any more rejection, and he knows that his friends are unlikely to help him. They have their own problems, their own parents to deal with, their own dramas to handle.

He's tired of asking for help and not receiving it.

He has even thought about calling the Cohens, but he already tried that once and it didn't help that much in the long run.

Ryan needs a place where he can spend the night, eat a little and patch himself up, before figuring out what to do, where to go. The Cohens would never let him go, not unless he lied to them, and he doesn't want to do that.

Sure, they'd help him. They'd try to mend things with his mom, or they'd hand him over to the social services.

Despite the fact that he has been taking care of himself for as long as he can remember, Ryan's only sixteen. In the eyes of the law, he needs adults to take care of him. No matter how maddeningly frustrating the notion is, Ryan has very few rights. The almighty social workers know what's good for him better than he does.

_Screw that_, Ryan thinks, walking away from the phone.

His side is aching, a dull pain pulsating with every step he takes, and his head is pounding, a sharp pain pulsating with each heartbeat.

He's terrified.

But he has only two choices now. He can make it on his own, or he can call social services for help, and go back into foster care until he comes of age.

Ryan has been into foster care once, and the memories of that time are locked away in a little corner of his mind where he never goes, and he has closed the door on them, and he has turned the key, and he'll never open that door again. He swore to himself, back then, that he'd never allow social workers to put him back into the system.

So, really, that only leaves choice one.

………………………

_"You promised me you'd stay!"_

_Ryan feels scared and his eyes are burning, but he can't be weak, so he buries his fear and channels his anger, clenching his fists._

_Michael is busy packing his clothes while Dawn snores on the couch._

_Michael has just spent a year with the Atwoods; he has told Ryan that he is worthy of an adult's affection and has taught him not to believe everything his mom says._

_Michael has promised Ryan that he was going to stay and take care of everything._

_Michael is leaving._

_"I'm sorry," Michael says._

_Ryan screams in his head, incoherent words about meaningless apologies and promises, but doesn't say a word aloud. What would be the point?—Michael will leave no matter what._

_Dawn never even stirs as Michael gathers his stuff._

_Later, as Michael is taking one last look around, he stops in front of Ryan and looks him in the eyes._

_"I'm going to Austin," he says. "If you ever, ever need anything, my name will be in the phone book."_

_Ryan looks away. Michael is leaving; he has just joined the long, long line of untrustworthy people who have disappointed Ryan, and nothing really matters anymore._

………………………

Ryan wakes up at dawn. He has spent the night in a deserted park, and no one has tried to bother him. Small miracle, for which Ryan is grateful.

He's exhausted from his night on a hard bench, he's sore all over, and he doesn't think he'll be able to move around much today.

But at least he has a destination in mind now.

Many times already Ryan has tentatively dreamed about going to Texas, trying to find Michael. He doesn't know why he thinks the guy would help him. He left a little more than a year ago, and the words he said when he left were meaningless. He just felt bad for Ryan, certainly.

He could be dead.

He could have moved.

He could have changed his name.

He could have forgotten all about Ryan.

But Ryan needs something to help him to move forward.

He needs a goal.

He needs some hope, however tenuous, that things will get better.

He needs…

He needs.

So, he'll give Austin a chance.

And if Michael won't help him, well, Austin can't be worse than Chino.

So, Ryan thinks, all he has to do now is clean himself up a little, so he won't scare people away, steal another wallet—or two, or three—and buy new clothes and something to eat, then lay low for a few days, until he feels good enough to skip town.

There are about ten thousand things that could go wrong, but there's little point in worrying about that.

What will come, will come—good or bad.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title** : Fork In The Road

**Author **: Helen C.

**Rating** : R (M)

**Summary** : AU. Dawn never left in the Pilot, and Ryan came back to Chino for a while. Years later, he and Seth meet in Los Angeles.

**Spoilers** : Everything is fair game.

**Disclaimer** : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Josh Schwartz. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Eternal gratitude to my beta, Joey51.

* * *

This is a Ryan/Seth slash story. If it's not your cup of tea, please be responsible and don't read.

* * *

_Chapter Three_

Because he can't afford to get into trouble with the police, Ryan avoids stealing money once he has left Chino.

In the first days, every single uniform he sees makes him break into a cold sweat. Certainly, a warrant has been issued by now—he didn't go back to school, so his PO has most definitely been called.

Ryan stops shaving, hoping it'll change his appearance and make him look older. Besides, that way, it's one expense he doesn't have to worry about, and every cent is worth saving.

He never stays in one place more than a week. He works in diners, in farms sometimes, in garages, on construction sites.

He sleeps in cheap motels or on the streets, but he avoids shelters—if people are looking for him, they'll certainly check those.

Life is grim, and Ryan is more than a little scared. He keeps expecting someone to yell "You're a fugitive!" He keeps expecting to be found out, to be dragged back to Chino, to juvie, or to foster care.

He doesn't know which possibility scares him the most.

At this point, Ryan is just trying to survive, and he's exhausted by the effort.

He spends his days working himself into a stupor, or watching the scenery through bus windows when he moves from one town to the next.

He spends his nights wondering what else he could have done, and coming up with nothing, and wondering whether Dawn even noticed that he's gone.

Wondering if she misses him.

Wondering if she'd take him back if he asked.

He doesn't call her though.

He doesn't want to know, doesn't think he could stand the hurt, if she told him, again, that she doesn't want him anymore.

………………………

Seth looks at his father, trying to school his face into indifference.

"So, that's it?"

His father sighs. He looks tired and worried, and he has looked that way ever since Ryan disappeared, weeks ago. "They're not calling off the search," he replies. "But Ryan's case isn't considered a high-priority case anymore."

"Yeah," Seth snaps, his tone dripping sarcasm. "Because sixteen-year-olds often disappear from their home never to be seen again. Especially when they have a junkie mom."

"Seth…"

"Come on, Dad!" he yells. He wasn't prone to yelling, _before. _Now, he just doesn't care about politeness anymore. "You know what his life was like there. Don't tell me you don't think one of Dawn's boyfriends went too far, and Ryan just took off—and that's the best case scenario."

His father looks down, defeated. Seth knows he's acting like a spoiled brat. This is hard on his dad too, because he tried so hard to help Ryan, and in the end, it seems it was all useless. Ryan's missing, and the police aren't optimistic.

Of course, the police also think that Ryan took off because he violated his probation, but as far as Seth's concerned, that's just bullshit. Ryan was determined to get his life back together, and the police couldn't find anything to prove that Ryan had done anything wrong.

Seth thinks Ryan took off to avoid someone's anger, but the fact that Ryan didn't call anyone is worrisome, to say the very least.

It could be mean a number of things, from "Ryan wants time alone" to "Ryan's dead and thus very much unable to call."

While none of the Cohens ever mention it, Seth knows what they all fear.

And they can't do a damn thing about it, except wait.

………………………

Three months after he left Chino, Ryan reaches Austin. He has a sprained wrist from a bad fall he took two days ago, a four-day stubble and a backpack containing the bare necessities he bought with stolen money before he left Chino—a toothbrush, seven pairs of boxers, one pair of jeans and three T-shirts. Soap and toothpaste.

Ryan travels light.

His hair looks funny because he cut it himself in the washroom of a gas station where he worked for two days, with scissors he borrowed from the owner's wife. That was ten days ago, and people were starting to look at him suspiciously when he asked them for a job. Besides, the bangs falling into his eyes while he was working were becoming damn annoying.

_Talk about roughing it_, Ryan thinks.

Once in Austin, he finds a garage where they need a mechanic for a few days, while one of their employees is busy nursing a newborn baby. Ryan works all day and spends his evenings looking through the phone book, searching for Michael, and praying that he didn't travel all this way for nothing.

………………………

At the end of the second day, Ryan has an address and his stomach is painfully tied up. He tries not to hope too much. He keeps telling himself that it will be okay if Michael has forgotten him.

He's not very successful at convincing himself.

As he nears the house he's looking for, he spots a pregnant woman, washing the windows.

For some reason, that woman makes Ryan want to turn the other way and run as fast as he can, and never turn back.

Whatever possessed him to come here?

He has spent the last weeks trying to convince himself that he had done the right choice. He had reached the proverbial fork in the road—faced with several options, he had chosen one and had hoped it was right the one.

Now that he's here, he can tell he was wrong.

Obviously, Michael has made a life for himself here. Ryan is just a troublesome teenager, with nothing to call his own but a used backpack and a lot of emotional baggage.

He should have stayed in California.

He had friends there—friends who couldn't take him in for the night, friends he didn't even bother to call anymore when he needed help.

He had a family there—a family that didn't want him anymore.

He could have done something there—ended up in jail. Or dead at AJ's fists.

If he'd stayed in California, he wouldn't be standing in front of a house like an idiot, too scared to move one way or the other.

He's so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't notice the man approaching him until it's too late.

"What do you want?" the man asks, wary. Ryan recognizes Michael immediately—his raven dark hair, his deep brown eyes, his caring, fatherly look.

And of course, Ryan looks suspect. He notices then that the woman has stopped what she was doing and is watching him.

He focuses on Michael and smiles. "Nothing," he says. "I'll just—"

"Ryan?" Michael cuts him off. "Is it… Ryan Atwood?"

Ryan can't decide whether the voice sounds welcoming or not, but it doesn't matter anymore. He has already made a decision. He'll leave, and go on like he did during the last three months. He has made it this far; certainly, he can keep doing it.

"Not Atwood anymore," he tells Michael. "I shouldn't have come, I'm sorry."

He turns and walks away. He hasn't taken more than five steps when Michael calls him back. "Wait."

And for some reason, Ryan does, and turns back to face Michael.

"Are you in trouble?"

Ryan is stumped. Is he in trouble?

His lack of answer brings a sad smile to Michael's face. "Come on," he says. "I'll buy you a drink."

Ryan hesitates.

"Ryan…"

"It's Spender now," Ryan says tightly. "Ryan Spender."

"Come on," Michael says.

Too tired to argue, Ryan follows him.

………………………

Seth doesn't know why he decided to leave today, and not any other day.

Sure, Summer ignored him when he greeted her in passing, but that's not any different from the usual.

Granted, Luke tripped him and he fell in front of everyone in Lit. class, but that's not new either.

A jock called him a fag but still, nothing out of the usual.

One of his teachers called on him and then couldn't remember his name.

Really, the day hasn't been worse than any other day.

Simply, it has been the last straw.

At some point between the tripping and the teacher episode, Seth has decided that he doesn't have to take this anymore.

The only friend he has ever had has vanished four months earlier. The only person who has made Seth's life bearable is probably dead.

So, time to go ahead with _Operation: Sail to Tahiti_.

With luck, the sand will be shinier there.

So, Seth goes home. He eats alone, his parents still at their respective offices. He packs his bags. He writes them a note. _Don't worry, it's better this way._

As the sun starts to set, the Summer Breeze steers clear of the coast.

And Seth's alone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title** : Fork In The Road

**Author **: Helen C.

**Rating** : R (M)

**Summary** : AU. Dawn never left in the Pilot, and Ryan came back to Chino for a while. Years later, he and Seth meet in Los Angeles.

**Spoilers** : Everything is fair game.

**Disclaimer** : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Josh Schwartz. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Eternal gratitude to my beta, Joey51.

* * *

This is a Ryan/Seth slash story. If it's not your cup of tea, please be responsible and don't read.

_

* * *

_

_Chapter Four_

_Los Angeles, 2010_

"I'm telling you, man, she's definitely into you!"

The bar is smoky, even though this is L.A., and cigarettes are basically outlawed in California. Ryan has always found the Californian attitude toward smoking baffling. There's the smog, and it sometimes feels like there are more cars in California than anywhere else on the planet, and yet people are still concerned about tobacco smoke—which Ryan doubts is more harmful than the vapors of burned fuel.

Of course, he's not really objective; he has smoked a few cigarettes a day since his thirteenth birthday—the only drug he allows himself to take, but one he can't imagine giving up.

"Well, aren't you going to do something about it?" Josh insists.

Ryan shoots him a dubious look, which causes Josh to grin over the rim of his glass, and wink in a conspiratorial way.

Ryan shrugs, looks over his shoulder, and spots the woman, perched on a stool at the bar. She is, indeed, studying him with interest. As soon as they make eye contact, however, she blushes and ducks her head.

"Nah," Ryan tells Josh. "A little too shy for me."

Josh snorts indelicately. "But you can't deny she's looking at you."

Ryan smiles cheekily, mostly because Josh expects him to. "Perhaps," he says. He doesn't have to try hard to look blasé. He has always been popular with the ladies, and he's certainly not complaining about it.

At this point, Sean, the third man at their table, snickers. "We don't stand a chance when you're with us," he says, half-joking, half-bemoaning a real fact. "You look like a fucking movie star and they only have eyes for you."

Ryan looks down critically at his blue shirt, his faded jeans, his worn shoes. His hair is flattened by the hard hat he has worn all day and he hasn't shaved in two days. He has "construction worker" written all over him, and he couldn't feel further from a movie star if he tried.

He has always found himself ordinary looking, and he has decided years ago that women are just attracted to him because he doesn't try too hard to get them.

"Well, perhaps she _was_ looking at one of us," Josh allows. He elbows Sean in the ribs. "Watcha think?"

Sean looks affronted. "I think you're way past your limit," he replies, gesturing to Josh's mostly empty beer. "And I think Ryan hasn't had nearly enough to drink."

Ryan self-consciously looks at his full glass. "Who'll make sure you guys get home in one piece if I don't stay sober?" he asks. The question is purely rhetorical at this point—they've had this discussion a few dozen times already. Ryan has never loved drinking. Life has taught him that people lose control when they're drunk, and Ryan has always been a bit of a control freak.

So, when they go drink a few on Friday night, Ryan is always the designated driver. He doesn't mind, and the others have accepted this as one of Ryan's many quirks.

Sean glances at him; as usual, he looks like he has all the answers in the world, like he knows everything about Ryan—a frightful notion. "_Sean is like Yoda, except less green. Most times_," Josh once said. Ryan laughed at that, but couldn't help agreeing.

Sean is frighteningly perceptive, and it's one of the reasons why Ryan has always resisted forming a friendship with the guy.

Sean is a wonderful man. He's married, he has two kids, he allows himself exactly one cigarette a day, goes to church every Sunday and pays his taxes without complaining. Ryan dearly hopes he'll be as laid back and as "together" than Sean is when he reaches forty, but Sean is also intuitive and good at picking up on clues, and Ryan is always afraid he'll let something slip when he's with him.

He doesn't care that he's being paranoid for no good reason. It has been years since he left Chino, and while Ryan still stiffens whenever he passes by a cop, he knows that no one must be looking for him anymore—if anyone ever looked in the first place.

But the need to remain hidden is still there—funny how easily Ryan got used to being on the run, and how hard it is to feel at ease anywhere, even now, years later.

"Ah!" Josh says. "I'm perfectly able to get home all by myself."

"Sure," Ryan says, his tone neutral. Josh is notoriously easy to rile up when he's drunk, and Ryan doesn't want him to get aggressive. He's too beat to deal with that today.

Sean finishes his beer in two long swallows before rising to his feet. "Well, I, for one, am more than ready to call it a night."

Ryan makes to follow him but Sean gestures him back. "I'll call a cab," he says. "You two just… enjoy yourselves." The last part is directed at Ryan, who smiles slightly.

"Yeah," he says. Then his eyes fall on Josh, who is starting to slump in his chair. "Sure."

………………………

It's almost two in the morning when Ryan finally makes it home. He has driven Josh back to his place, where a furious girlfriend made Ryan carry Josh to the bed before escorting him out.

Ryan flops on the couch, smiling inwardly as he remembers the woman's furious look. Poor Josh won't be able to nurse his hangover in peace in the morning, if she has anything to say about it.

He's tired, achy and sweaty, but he lacks the energy to do anything about it, or even to drag himself to the bedroom, so he just stares at the blank TV screen instead.

The last few days have thoroughly kicked his ass into the ground. Of course, working construction is never exactly a restful job, but the heat has been particularly stifling, and several of the guys have called in sick at the beginning of the week, forcing all the others to pick up the slack.

On the bright side, Ryan's boss may be a task maker, but when he's happy with the job, he's fairly generous with the bonuses, and Ryan needs the money.

Sometimes, Ryan feels like his life is an endless series of nights and days spent worrying about the bills, worrying about the rent, worrying about whether or not he'll still be employed the next day, or the next week.

At least, back in Chino, he had Trey, and sometimes Dawn, to worry with him, and to come up with new ways to get money.

Now, he's alone—Michael would help him if he asked, but Ryan doesn't want to ask, because Michael is raising a kid, and is having trouble every end of the month too.

And of course, being alone means that he has no one else to worry about—if Ryan screws up, he'll be the only one paying the price. Unfortunately, it also means that he doesn't have anyone to share his fears with, and worrying alone is exhausting.

Ryan sighs and stops this train of thought.

Sure, he's starting over again, but he has been here for six months now, and hasn't been doing too bad so far.

As far as everyone is concerned, he's Ryan Spender.

He is now, according to his ID, twenty-five years old.

Michael knew a few people and managed to get him papers proving his existence, so he could open a bank account, get a driver's license and insurance.

Ryan Atwood has never been found, and as far as Ryan knows, very few people noticed.

He hasn't seen his mother since he left, he doesn't even know whether or not she's still alive. He tells himself that he doesn't care, and mostly, he manages to believe it.

He did meet Trey, about two months ago—a chance encounter in a city where several million people live.

They literally bumped into each other on a street corner.

Trey hugged him impulsively. He reeked of cigarettes and alcohol, his eyes were bloodshot, and the only reason Ryan wasn't scared of him was because Trey's his brother and would never hurt him.

"Ma thinks you're dead!" Trey told Ryan. "She flipped."

Ryan shrugged. "So?" he asked, thinking, _I am dead, for all intents and purposes_.

Trey gaped at him for a moment, obviously taking stock of the man his little brother had become. When he spoke again, it was in a sad, weary voice. "Yeah. So…"

For a brief while, Ryan missed the kids they used to be—the ones who were brothers, who would have done anything for each other, who had each other's backs.

But these kids, too, were dead—had fallen victim to Dawn's lifestyle and of a series of bad choices.

"Take care, man," Trey said.

"You too."

Ryan hasn't seen Trey again. As far as he knows, his brother has never told anyone he met him.

If Trey's shaking hands were any indication, he's shooting up again.

Ryan doesn't think his brother will live to reach thirty, and the thought always hurts. Ryan still remembers the kid Trey was, eager and smart and witty, before their father's indifference and Dawn's boyfriends kicked innocence out of him, and taught him that he was nothing, that violence was the answer, that having money was more important than being a good man.

Sometimes, he thinks he would like to go see Dawn, to force her to see what she has done by choosing other people over her sons.

She wouldn't see, though, and it would only reopen Ryan's wounds and make him even angrier.

Ryan lives a solitary life, and for the most part, he's happy with it. He doesn't have friends, per se, but he has friendly acquaintances.

He doesn't have a regular girlfriend but he has no problem fucking regularly—an endless stream of one-night-stands that satisfy his physical needs.

He doesn't have a family, nor does he want one. It's too much pain, too much trouble, too many complications to deal with.

Sometimes, Ryan wonders if that means that Dawn has won.

He knows that normal people create bonds, look for ways to make their lives more meaningful, want commitment, want to be recognized for who they are.

Ryan wants none of these things—he wants peace, he doesn't want to take risks anymore, he doesn't dare trusting anyone, really.

The only person Ryan has kept in touch with for any length of time is Michael and, in some way, the rest of his family.

The man offers advice, good-natured teasing, and avoids dropping too many expectations on Ryan. Perhaps he has understood that it would be the surest way to drive Ryan away.

Besides, he's the only person's who has ever tried to help Ryan—or, at least, the only person who wasn't paid to do so.

No one else ever bothered.

Ryan still can't believe Michael helped him. After all, he had all the reasons in the world to tell Ryan he couldn't do anything, all the reasons in the world to not even try. But Michael found a place for Ryan in his life, and for that, Ryan is grateful and tries not to take advantage of it.

Ryan yawns as the baby living in the apartment above starts crying. He spends a moment debating before finally deciding to go sleep in his bed. Sleeping on the couch after five days of manual work is just asking for trouble.

Stretching, he makes his way to the bedroom.

………………………

_Los Angeles, 2010_

"I'm telling you, man, that girl totally noticed me."

Seth nods distractedly, trying to find a polite way to redirect the discussion. Tact has never been his forte, but he has at least learned to shut up sometimes.

"I guess I could go ask her out," Christian adds, his tone already less certain.

Seth bites his tongue. _Well of course_, his sarcastic inner self whispers, _if you're so sure she's into you, you should. But we both know she's not, don't we? And even if she was, buddy, we're both geeks and we're pathologically unable to walk up to a beautiful girl and ask her out. Let's face it, we're losers, we'll die single._

Aloud, he just says, "Sure."

Definitely more tactful than when he was a teenager.

Once upon a time, Seth dreamed of having a friend to whom he would impart his witty yet self-demeaning ramblings. And that friend would have smiled, nodded and/or rolled his eyes, and told him affectionately to get a life. And, perhaps, Seth would have listened.

But he never found that friend, certainly not in high school, and not even in college, and now he has stopped looking, stopped waiting for it.

"Or," Christian adds, "I could wait."

Seth cuts him off. "Wait for what? Carpe diem, dude. You like her? Go tell her!"

So much easier said than done…

Seth knows that perfectly well. After all, he never approached Summer to ask her out. And she married the son of a senator in Newport, and the Cohen family was invited to the wedding but Seth begged out and spent that day moping around his apartment. He sees her on TV sometimes, beautiful and beaming, going places while Seth lives in his bachelor apartment and eats take-out six days of the week.

Seth knows all about missed opportunities, and very little about taking chances.

Christian is nodding, clearly unconvinced.

For a moment, Seth wishes he could tell Christian how lonely life is for cowards. But they're not close enough for that kind of soul-bearing and Seth is very much aware of the distinction between being a friend to someone, and being friendly with someone.

"You should," he just says neutrally, because he can't resist taking another shot.

Perhaps, if he convinces Christian to go ask the girl out, he'll feel less miserable about Summer.

Christian smiles and finishes his coffee before heading back to his office, leaving Seth alone in the break room.

………………………

Seth arrives home relatively early, and goes through the usual, automatic routine—jacket on the chair, keys on the counter, wallet on the table, turn on the TV to the cartoon channel and check his messages.

As he notices the blinking light on his answering machine, he sighs. His mother has been on a mission lately—yet another campaign to make Seth participate more in Newport's social life.

They've had that argument too many times to count over the years. His mom seems unable to grasp this simple concept : Seth fiercely loathes all these snobbish people who don't do anything but drink and gossip, whose children bullied him for years without retaliation, and who are always so condescending to him.

He deliberately went to College on the East Coast to escape this hell, just as his own dad crossed the country to escape the Nana.

A therapist would probably say that Seth unconsciously repeated a pattern he had seen in his family. And Seth would laugh and say, "Oh, it wasn't unconscious."

After all, College wasn't his first try at escaping Newport. After Ryan's disappearance, Seth had taken his beloved boat, bent on sailing to Tahiti. Four days later, the Coast Guards had accosted him and sent him back to Newport, seething and resentful.

"Didn't you realize how worried we'd be?" his mother had all but screamed at him.

Seth had snarked, "So worried that it took you thirty-six hours to find out I was gone? So worried that you're sending me back to that fucking school I hate, because our status won't allow me to go elsewhere?"

She'd slapped him—the only time she had ever raised her hand on him.

They'd talked about it a lot during their family therapy sessions.

Seth had cooperated with the shrink, had gone back to Harbor, had withstood the humiliations and the indifference of the one girl he loved and would never have, and had bided his time.

Upon graduation, he gratefully accepted his grandfather's gift—two months in Europe.

When he flew back in September, he didn't even bother to go back to California, he just got settled in New York immediately.

For four years, he stayed as far away from Newport as he possibly could.

His parents went back to drowning themselves into their work, as they had always done.

After he was done with College, Seth moved to L.A., trying to launch his career as a comic designer. Somehow, his mother seemed to mistake this as Seth's way of being closer to home.

Fat chance.

Seth sighs as he listens to his messages.

Of course, his grandfather will attend the party… and convey, once again, what a failure Seth is—still not married, still not a millionaire, still not willing to step into the family business. "It was built for you," Caleb _Asshole_ Nichol keeps saying.

Seth can't bring himself to be grateful for that, mostly because he suspects that it's not true—Caleb Nichol built his empire for himself, and to keep his family wealthy, sure, but he's too much of a control freak to allow anyone to take the reins of the Group.

Besides, Seth has always been convinced that Caleb Nichol loves the idea of a grandson a lot more than his actual grandson.

Seth resents his family—his rich, powerful, influential family, that never stepped in when he needed it, that never helped him in ways that counted, that never considered helping him in any other way than by signing a check.

He still loves them, though—of course, he does. It's his family, he can't help it.

Now that his parents don't rule his life anymore, he can even move on past the hurt, past the disappointment.

He can't imagine his life without them, and he would go see them more often, if only they didn't live in Newport—the place that represents everything he hates in the world, the place that holds so many bad memories for him.

As it is, he settles for only going back every once in a while, when he truly can't justify missing yet another of these events.

The life Seth lives now is lonely—the few friends he has are comic nerds who, like Seth, are not gifted at making friends, and prefer talking about the latest adventures of the X-Men than talking about the fact that their life sucks and doesn't show any sign of improving, and that they don't know what to do about it.

He has had a few loveless affairs with other geeks, of both genders, in college.

He didn't feel changed after these experiences, as if nothing meaningful had happened, nothing bringing him a better understanding of himself or others.

He tries to keep things as emotionally uninvolved as possible.

It's far better for all concerned, he thinks, as he drops onto his bed.

That way, no one builds up expectations, and no one ends up hurt or disappointed.

Status quo also has good sides.


	5. Chapter 5

**Title** : Fork In The Road

**Author **: Helen C.

**Rating** : R (M)

**Summary** : AU. Dawn never left in the Pilot, and Ryan came back to Chino for a while. Years later, he and Seth meet in Los Angeles.

**Spoilers** : Everything is fair game.

**Disclaimer** : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Josh Schwartz. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Eternal gratitude to my beta, Joey51.

* * *

This is a Ryan/Seth slash story. If it's not your cup of tea, please be responsible and don't read.

* * *

_Chapter Five_

_Three weeks later_

Ryan swipes the sweat from his forehead, irritated. The streetlights make him squint after three hours in a dark bar.

He feels warm and sticky and grimaces as sweat trickles down his back—California will never be warmer than Texas, _nothing _will ever be warmer than Texas, but today, it's almost as bad.

For once, he's the first one to leave the bar. Sean will see to it that Josh goes home in one piece. There was tension in the air, thick and threatening, and the undercurrent of danger persuaded Ryan to go home early. A fistfight is the last thing he needs, and he's an Atwood in blood, if not by name. The last thing he needs is usually what he gets. Fucking karma.

As he looks for his keys, he hears a frantic voice, over the music pouring from the bar into the street. "No, seriously, guys, perhaps we should talk about it." Ryan frowns and unconsciously tilts his head as the voice almost, but not quite, triggers a memory. He can feel it, just out of reach—_something_, an almost happy memory, laced with hope, and guilt, and shame. A rushed, "Okay, fine, whatever, take my wallet," brings him back to the here and now.

Ryan briefly hesitates. This is L.A., muggings happen every day, every hour. Chances are, the bad guys will just take the money and leave. In fact, if Ryan intervenes, he'll probably just make things worse.

He's still frozen in indecision when he hears the unmistakable sound of a fist hitting a face. Ryan shakes himself. He has never been one to look the other way, and he remembers all too well what it's like to be the one who needs help.

He runs to the voices, mentally praying that he won't become yet another good Samaritan, victim of his good nature and killed while trying to do a good deed.

The next ten minutes are a blur—fists thrown, punches avoided, mad ducking and dodging, a sharp pain as a knife grazes his arm, a duller pain as a fist collides with his cheekbone, a breathless run, dragging the stranger by the sleeve of his shirt.

At firsts, he hears people following them, then the footsteps grow more distant, before fading completely.

Ryan keeps on running, still dragging a perfect stranger behind him.

Little by little, he grows more conscious of the wind on his face, of the way his heart is pounding in his ears, but it takes a long while for the thought to register.

_You're far enough, you can stop running._

Then, finally, it hits Ryan that he's running like hell from people who broke pursuit several intersections ago.

He stops, so suddenly that his companion runs into him, and they both topple to the ground.

Ryan lies there for a while, catching his breath, eyes closed. He can't hear anything past the blood rushing in his ears. Either they ran really fast, really long, or he needs to start exercising some more.

When he doesn't feel like his chest isn't going to explode anymore, Ryan leans on an elbow and studies his surroundings.

Good news is, he instinctively made his way home, and he's about two streets from his apartment. Bad news is, the stranger seems to have passed out, which, given the stench of alcohol clinging to him, isn't all that surprising.

Ryan reached over and rolls the stranger on his back, eliciting a moan. "Wanna sleep."

He recognizes his lawyer's son immediately, and the surprise makes him jump to his feet and take a step back. Funny, he thought people only ever did that on TV, but apparently, it happens in real life too, given a sufficient shock.

He suddenly understands why people talk about "a blast from the past."

He certainly feels like he has just been punched.

The guy is still unconscious, and Ryan searches his memory for a name, coming up with Seth.

It seems about right.

"Hey," he says, crouching next to Seth again and nudging him.

"Mnpf," Seth says.

"You were more chatty back then," Ryan whispers.

He gets back up, ponders the situation for a while, before deciding that he can't possibly leave Seth here.

He's going to have to carry him home.

Ryan sighs, thinking back about Trey, who kept warning him that no good deed ever went unpunished, then he pushes the thought away.

He doesn't want to become the kind of person who doesn't help others when they're in danger. He has few standards, few expectations for himself, but this, at least, he clings to.

………………………

Seth wakes up with a pounding headache, and with a dry and bad-after-tasty mouth.

Yikes.

He has been told several times already that he needs to stop drinking because he can't hold his liquor worth a damn, and he's beginning to believe it.

Especially since, as a quick survey of the room tells him, he's in a bed, and it's not his.

He groans.

He probably doesn't want to know what happened last night.

Except…

Except, yeah, he's Seth Cohen, and he always wants to know.

Even when he doesn't want to know, he still, well, wants to know.

If there was a Nobel Prize for eavesdropping and sheer curiosity, he'd have earned it already.

Besides…

Besides, he's still fully dressed, shoes and all, and he's on top of the covers, and he's alone, so chances are, nothing bad happened last night.

Then, as the pounding becomes slightly less overwhelming, he's forced to revise that statement.

His left eye seems tender and a careful prodding of the area makes him yelp in surprise.

Ow!

That _hurts_!

Just as Seth is about to start feeling sorry for himself, the door bangs open, making him jump to his feet—or rather, making him _try_ to jump to his feet. Unfortunately, his legs don't cooperate, and he manages to actually trip himself while lying down, ending in an undignified pile of misery on the floor.

Wonderful, he looks ridiculous and he still doesn't know where he is… or with whom.

With his luck, he's in the lair of a serial killer, and he just pissed the man off by yelping.

It's L.A., anything's possible.

Still on the floor, his eyes go up from the man's bare feet to his light blue jeans to his white T-shirt, his bandaged arm, to his familiar-yet-not-familiar face.

It takes him a moment to place it.

_Ryan?_

Seth's aware that he's gaping, but last time he was conscious, he was in a bar, with a friend, making bad puns about the barman, and, oh, yes, Ryan was presumed dead.

And now, Seth's in an unfamiliar place, with his sort-of-best-friend from a few summers ago.

When the hell did that happen?

"You okay?" Ryan asks, his voice lower and hoarser than Seth remembers.

He nods, and makes a conscious effort to close his mouth.

"You yelled," Ryan insists, frowning slightly.

"Do I have a shiner?" Seth asks.

If he had been asked, even yesterday, what he'd say if he ever saw Ryan again, he would have sworn that "Do I have a shiner?" wouldn't even have been in the top fifteen—although, if he remembers correctly, Ryan kind of had a habit of walking around with one of these.

Still does, apparently, Seth amends as he notices the bruises on Ryan's face.

Ryan's lips twitch. "'Fraid so."

"Oh."

There's a tense silence as they study each other.

"This is awkward," Seth says once his barely existent tolerance to silence is exhausted.

Again, Ryan almost smiles. Apparently, the years haven't made him more loquacious.

"You're Ryan," Seth announces needlessly, because presumably, Ryan knows who he is, if only in an administrative sense.

"And you're Seth," Ryan returns, un-phased.

"Hm."

Seth kind of nods, then freezes as a wave of nausea assaults him. Very slowly, he sits up, then gets to his feet, because really, looking stupid in front of Ryan is all well and good, but this lolling around on the floor has lasted long enough.

There's another silence, less filled with tension than the first one.

This time, Ryan's the one who breaks it.

"So," he says.

Much as he's relieved that Ryan's willing to talk, Seth raises a finger in warning.

Ryan must have developed telepathic abilities, which is all kinds of cool, and he says, "Bathroom door's behind you."

_Bless telepathy_, Seth thinks, making a run for it. He'd never have been able to open his mouth without making a mess.

………………………

"Toast?" Ryan offers to Seth when he enters the kitchen.

To Ryan's amusement, Seth pales another shade.

"No, thanks."

Seth collapses on the seat next to Ryan, while Ryan eats his not-quite-burned toast and drinks his coffee, favoring his left arm. The cut isn't too deep, so he put antiseptic on it and bandaged it himself, praying that the knife was clean and he didn't catch anything nasty.

For a good five minutes, they stay silent, Ryan eating his breakfast and observing Seth, who seems to be suffering from one hell of a hangover.

"Yeah," Ryan finally says as he finishes his coffee. "This is weird all right."

"Yeah." Seth makes to touch the bruise on his face, but his fingers stop just short of the skin. "How did I end up here?"

"You were mugged," Ryan explains. Seth's eyebrows shoot up, prompting Ryan to elaborate, "I heard you, so I came see if I could do something. There was a fight, clearly," he adds, gesturing to his own bandaged arm.

There's a flash of worry in Seth's eyes. "Just a scratch," Ryan hastens to add. "We made a run for it, then you passed out drunk."

He gets up to put the dishes in the sink, letting Seth absorb the story.

When Seth speaks again, it's so softly that Ryan almost doesn't hear him.

"Thanks."

Ryan half-turns to Seth, shrugs briefly. "No problem, man."

Seth seems about to add something, and before he can, Ryan asks, "You live in L.A.?" He doesn't need Seth's gratitude, and he doesn't want to dwell on last night's events.

What happened, happened, and they're both alive.

"Yup," Seth says. "Fled the hell that was Newport at eighteen. I still go back to see the 'rents, sometimes."

Ryan has a brief flash of Sandy Cohen's concerned eyes, of his wife's guarded smiles. "How are they doing?"

Seth shrugs. "Same old. She works for the devil, he still defends the underdog."

Ryan nods.

"You disappeared," Seth says then, in an accusing tone. "You just… I called, for Christmas, to invite you over, and your mom said you weren't in and you'd call back, but you never did, and we thought you had other stuff to do, so we didn't insist."

Ryan shakes his head. "I never got your message," he says. "Or, well, I don't think so. I still don't remember some stuff that happened the week I disappeared."

Seth looks down at his clenched hands. "We decided to give it a few days, then Dad was going to go check on you, but before he could, your PO told him you hadn't gone back to school. And no one ever heard about you again. Dad hired a private investigator, but apparently, the trail was too cold, you'd been gone for too long already." He stops, while Ryan stares at the tabletop, trying to absorb the fact that his lawyer hired a PI to look for him. "What happened?" Seth asks plaintively.

Ryan shrugs. "AJ was having a bad day, I guess," he says. "I went home for a while, and I woke up a few hours later, on the side of the road." He smiles ruefully. "I still don't really remember what happened. I suppose he beat the fuck out of me, and drove me there while Mom was unconscious."

Seth looks shocked. Ryan sympathizes. He was pretty shocked when it happened, too. No matter what his younger years had taught him about the ugliness of the world, being left for dead and dropped like a piece of trash on the road was still disturbing in too many ways to understand.

He tries not to dwell on it, even now, and when he allows himself to think about it, he often feels the urge to lock his apartment door, crawl into a dark corner, and forget about the world for a while.

"Why didn't you call?" Seth asks.

Ryan shakes his head. "Been there, done that," he whispers. Louder, he explains, "I didn't want to go into foster care. Bad experiences there. And Dawn… well, whatever."

It still hurts to admit that his mother didn't want him anymore, wasn't even concerned that her sixteen-year-old son was on the street and had nowhere to go.

"We could have—" Seth starts.

"Don't." Ryan doesn't want to wonder what would have happened if he had called the Cohens. Michael has been great to him, and it's too late to change what happened.

Seth nods, defeated.

"You still haven't told me what you're doing with your life," Ryan point out, hoping to put the discussion on the rails again—as long as the rails lead them far away from Dawn.

"Neither did you," Seth points out.

Ryan smiles. "Very true."

"We have all day to play catch up," Seth says, brightly, before adding in a more subdued tone, "That is, unless you want me to leave, which I'd totally understand." For a fleeting moment, Ryan sees the younger Seth, the one who seemed to expect Ryan to turn down his offer to play video game.

"Sure," he says, surprised himself at how good the idea sounds.

………………………

"So, what happened then?" Seth asks.

Ryan, who has been talking for half an hour, telling Seth exactly how he ended up in Austin, takes a long gulp of soda.

"We need more pizza if you insist on learning every little detail," he says.

"Yeah, whatever. The story, man!"

Ryan bites back a smile.

They have discussed the possibility of going to the police to file a deposition about last night's events, but Seth can't remember anything, and Ryan couldn't recognize Seth's aggressors if his life depended on it, and Seth has decided that it would just be too much of a hassle for very little results.

Then, they got settled on the couch and Seth started asking questions.

The years haven't changed that, at least. Seth is certainly as curious now as he was then.

As Seth seems about to insist, Ryan starts talking again. "Well, Michael took me into town, and paid me a drink. We talked. I told him what had happened. He agreed to help me find a job, and not to tell anyone I was, you know, an underage runaway."

"Just like that?"

"I think he always felt bad for leaving me with Dawn. He told me once that he would have left her months earlier, if not for Trey and me."

Seth looks pained at the thought—as was Ryan when he had that particular talk with Michael.

"In the beginning, it was supposed to be just that—I'd crash on his couch a few nights, the time to find my own place, and then I'd leave him alone."

"It didn't turn out that way, right?" Seth asks, pointing to a photo on the TV—Michael and his wife, a baby, and Ryan, all beaming to the camera.

"No. Once I had my place, his wife insisted I come over to diner. At first, she was just being polite, you know?"

Seth nods.

"Then, I got to know them, and they got to know me. She was pregnant, and I guess she felt bad for me. She wondered, you know, what if it was her kid who was living on the streets?"

And little by little, Ryan had started spending more time with them—helping Michael fix his car, helping Alicia to unload the groceries, letting them help him get his GED.

And the mutual dependence had grown into affection, into long evenings spent in the setting sun, cold drinks handy, talking about meaningless stuff, into days spent baby-sitting Natalie, reading to her and listening to her babbling.

Ryan smiles sadly. "I miss them," he says aloud, forgetting for a moment that he's not alone in the room.

"Then why do you—?"

"Live here?" Ryan finishes. "I'm not sure, actually. I just… I needed a change of scenery, for a while."

Seth, amazingly, doesn't push.

Ryan stretches. "Okay, pizza time," he decides. "Then, my turn to ask questions."

………………………

After the pizza, Ryan turns on the TV, and with MTV in the background, listens to Seth's account of what happened in Newport after Ryan "went away."

Seth talks a lot, and still uses ten words where one would be enough, so the discussion lasts a long time.

Ryan learns, first, that Seth's only love married another man, and he gets the feeling that Seth still isn't over her.

He learns that Marissa—Ryan vaguely remembers the skinny, beautiful girl who bummed a cigarette and seemed impressed by his bad boy routine—OD'd in Tijuana, after catching her boyfriend cheating on her. A heartbreak seems a strange reason to off oneself, but Ryan doesn't comment. What does he know about other people's pain?

He learns that Mr. Welcome-to-the-OC-bitch had problems of his own and fell from grace when his father came out of the closet and left town.

It's a strange experience, Ryan thinks, to hear about the lives of these people he met once, briefly, and has barely thought about since.

………………………

As Seth pauses to take a breath, he shoots a look at Ryan, to make sure the guy isn't too bored by his Newport-related news bulletin.

Ryan seems interested, if only vaguely, so Seth goes on, telling the tale of his high-sea adventures, a few months after Ryan's disappearance, and about the humiliation he felt when the Coast Guards forced him to go home, and the anger he felt when his parents, good-intentioned, clueless Newpsies that they are, sent him to a therapist and back to Harbor.

"It was hell," he confides. He catches himself before Ryan can react. "I mean, obviously, not as bad as you had it, but still… everyone knew I had run away, and I had been caught, and they all just…"

Seth remembers how he briefly hoped, back then, that his status as a troublesome teenager would buy him a few points with the _in_ crowd. He also remembers how quickly that hope was crushed—five minutes into his first day back, Luke yelled in a crowded homeroom, "Hey, Cohen, did you find life on your own too hard to handle? Is that why you went back to Mommy?"

The in crowd laughed, the neutral crowd didn't react, and Seth resigned himself to two more years of the same shit.

"And my parents sent me to that stupid shrink, who decided that I needed to make more efforts to fit in, and pumped me full of pills. I guess they thought they'd done their duty as parents."

He doesn't want to sound whiny, not when Ryan's mom left him to fend for himself at sixteen, in horrible circumstances, but damn it, it hurt when his parents decided that the best way to deal with Seth was to put him into therapy.

"I've never understood it," Ryan says thoughtfully. At Seth's quizzical look, he adds, "Why you weren't popular, I mean."

"Scrawny Jewish kid," Seth says, shrugging.

"Yes, but…" Ryan shifts slightly, eyeing the now cold leftover slices of pizza. "You were good-looking, you had a good sense of humor, and a comic obsession isn't that weird, honestly." He looks at Seth sheepishly. "I don't get it."

Seth snorts. "It was the same people in first grade, you know. The first day, Luke decided I was a loser. He was a blond hair, blue-eyed boy, I was just Sandy Cohen's son, the new kid in school. Newport is a small town; the kids had known each other since they were born. Luke decided I was a loser, and even at seven, no one went against Luke." He feels a little ashamed, but he admits, because he thinks Ryan will understand, "I was so glad when the fucker got himself catalogued as a pariah too. I would have gone out and celebrated, except I didn't know anyone to party with."

Ryan smiles. "He made your life hell for years. I get that. I'd kick AJ when he's down, if I ever got the chance. Assuming he's still around."

"Yeah." Seth reaches for the beer that's growing warm on the table and takes a swallow before going on, "I think mom blamed you a little for my disappearing, if you can believe it. I guess she thought that if you hadn't run, I wouldn't have either."

Ryan chuckles. "Yeah, right. You were already talking about Tahiti the day we met. Besides…"

Seth shrugs. "It was the last straw," he admits. "You leaving, I mean. No one else made life in Newport bearable. But, if I hadn't met you, I'd just have left sooner…"

Ryan looks uncomfortable all of a sudden, and Seth has a brief flash of panic. _This is it_, he thinks. He put the responsibility on Ryan's shoulders, and now, Ryan is going to politely tell him to leave and grow up, and that will be it.

"You've got to understand," Ryan says softly. "I never thought anyone would look for me, or even realize I was gone. Well, except for a few friends I had, and perhaps my PO and the cops, but…" He has an embarrassed smile. "I was just an underage car thief in a huge ocean of criminals. I thought, what did it matter if I vanished?"

Seth looks at the TV blankly, trying to figure out what to answer to that. What the hell could he say to a guy who just admitted that the only people who would notice his absence would be the people paid to keep him on the line, and people he obviously couldn't rely on when he had problems?

Seth has felt alone all his life, and the loneliness has always been compounded by the fact that he thought he was the only one who felt that utterly alone.

But he realizes now that perhaps, Ryan knows where Seth is coming from.

On that at least, they can relate.

………………………

Much later, after Seth is gone and Ryan has tidied up a little and gone to bed, Ryan can't remember which one of them suggested that they meet again "for a beer or something."

All he knows is that the idea makes him feel enthusiastic, and it has been years since he has been enthusiastic about anything.

He has to admit that it was nice seeing Seth again, and hearing about what happened when he left. And, also, to hear that some people did, indeed, look for him.

He briefly wonders what would have happened if he had allowed Sandy Cohen to find him, then dismisses the thought as irrelevant. The Cohens would have handed him over to social services, and even if they hadn't, even if they had allowed him to stay in Newport, Ryan suspects that he would always have felt like a charity case—forced to accept their help until he was old enough to finally live by himself. Besides, from what little he remembers about people there, he's sure he would never have been really accepted. Tolerated, at best…

At least Michael allowed him his independence, while keeping an eye on him to make sure he was fine.

At least Michael and his family and most of their friends didn't look down on him because he came from nowhere and didn't own anything.

Still, it was nice seeing Seth, and talking with the guy. Ryan supposes they're both older and wearier than they were back then, but he still can see flashes of the kid he once knew.

That's comforting, he decides, as he slips into sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Title** : Fork In The Road

**Author **: Helen C.

**Rating** : R (M)

**Summary** : AU. Dawn never left in the Pilot, and Ryan came back to Chino for a while. Years later, he and Seth meet in Los Angeles.

**Spoilers** : Everything is fair game.

**Disclaimer** : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Josh Schwartz. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Eternal gratitude to my beta, Joey51.

* * *

This is a Ryan/Seth slash story. If it's not your cup of tea, please be responsible and don't read.

* * *

_Chapter Six_

Ryan doesn't think of himself as straight, or gay, or even bisexual for that matter. To him, sex is sex, pleasure is pleasure, no matter who's in bed with him.

After all, he has never been interested in putting labels on things or people, besides useful/not useful, and dangerous/not dangerous.

He can spot signals; he has always been good at reading people, so he can't say he's surprised when Seth kisses him, one night, about four weeks after their first meeting.

He has seen the signs—the lingering looks, the subtle blushes, the innuendo.

He and Seth tend to hang out together a lot, now. Whoever finishes work first calls the other and goes to wait at his place.

Ryan hasn't been out with the other guys at the construction site for almost a month, and they've gone from being worried to teasing him whenever they get the chance. "When do we meet her?" they often ask, making Ryan smile and shrug, and go back to his task without answering that loaded question.

He likes the friendship he has with Seth, but he's curious too, because clearly, there's sexual tension there; he would have to be blind not to see it. After all, they're both young, lonely and attractive, and they have a few fond shared memories binding them.

So, he kisses back, almost grateful that Seth took the initiative—a very un-Sethish thing to do, from what Ryan knows.

Then Seth pulls back, looking like he expects Ryan to either punch him or throw him out, and Ryan smiles.

Seth smiles back, still looking unsure, and Ryan fumbles for something reassuring to say.

"Have you ever…?" he finally asks. "With another guy?" It's the only thing he could think of that would make it clear that he's open to possibilities.

"Yeah. Sure."

Ryan raises an eyebrow, so Seth elaborates, "Once or twice. In college."

Which is pretty much what Ryan expected.

"I'm all about experimenting," Seth adds. Ryan bites back an incredulous laugh, and refrains from asking Seth whether or not he's just "experimenting" with Ryan.

After all, it doesn't matter.

Sure, they like each other, but clearly, they're not in love or anything. They're just two adults who spend time together and want to take it up a notch.

They're from different worlds, they expect different things out of life, and sooner or later, Seth will realize that, and move on.

There's no way they can have a long-term relationship, of that, Ryan is sure. They're too different, and their respective issues would be unmanageable if they ever tried to have a "serious" relationship.

"What about you?" Seth asks.

Ryan leans back in the couch, shoots a distracted glance at the TV—he can't even remember what they were watching before this—and nods. "Yeah. Few times." He smiles. "Experimenting."

Seth chuckles. "I thought this kind of stuff only happened in college," he says.

Ryan shrugs. "Evidently, it doesn't."

Seth drops his eyes, looking mortified. "Sorry. I didn't mean to imply—"

Ryan raises a hand to make him stop. "I know you didn't. I'm just saying, lots of people never go to college and still have lives."

Seth nods eagerly. "Right. No, yeah, you're right." He gulps nervously, audibly. "So, now what?"

Ryan rolls his eyes. "Well, we can go fuck in the bedroom, or we can fuck right here, or in the kitchen, or in the shower—which isn't my favorite place, really, but still, it's a possibility—or we can take it slow and see where it goes."

Seth's face has turned a bright scarlet by the time Ryan stops talking, and Ryan smirks slightly—really, what he said was hardly _that_ offensive.

Seth finally manages to choke out, "Er, yeah."

Amused, Ryan crosses his arms and gnaws at his lower lip. "Yeah to what? Bed, shower, kitchen? Or yeah to the waiting part?"

"You're messing with my head, aren't you?"

At that, Ryan barks out a sharp laugh. "Yes. And no," he says, wondering how long it'll take for Seth's head to explode at this rate.

Seth frowns and ponders that before nodding. "Yes, you're messing with me about the vast array of options we have. No, you're not messing with me about wanting to… you know…"

"Yeah," Ryan says.

Seth nods, looking less nervous and more like, well, Seth, and Ryan relaxes back in the couch.

………………………

Seth doesn't know what possessed him.

One minute ago, he was talking with Ryan, and now, his lips are on Ryan's, and he's sure next thing he knows, he'll be on the ground with a shiner or possibly some broken bones.

He braces himself for just that, so it's kind of a surprise when, after a brief hesitation, Ryan kisses back.

Never one to look a horse gift in the mouth—and what an unfortunate mental picture to think about at such a time—Seth enjoys the moment.

Ryan is a good kisser, which Seth would have bet his right arm on, if he had ever thought about it.

Which, okay, he did.

A little.

Or a lot.

It's not that he's gay, exactly.

Sure, he has had sex with guys, during his experimentation phase, but these days, who hasn't had at least one same-sex night, right?

The 80's were all about home-made sex-tapes, and in the early 2000's, the new furor was the same-sex experimentation.

Big deal.

Perhaps a therapist would tell Seth that he's starting relationships that are doomed from the start because deep down, he wants to remain free for Summer, but who cares what a therapist says anyway?

He was there, Ryan was there, and they get along well, for all their differences, and for a moment, it seemed like a perfect idea.

Of course, most plans that eventually go awry start out as good-ideas-at-the-time, but life is all about needing to take chances, and about checking which good ideas are really good, and which are, really, terrible.

Seth has never allowed himself to take many chances. Back in high-school, he kept trying to work up the guts to walk to Summer and ask her out, and he'd always freeze before taking the first step. When he was home, he usually thought that he had to, that nothing could be worse than this constant waiting for something to happen, that even if she laughed at him, at least he would have asked.

_Screw that_, he'd think then. _She can only say yes if I ask_.

And then, the next day, he'd see her in the hallways and he'd get petrified again.

Sadly, he never got into a "screw that" state of mind while he was at school, where it could have made a difference.

As they pull back, and Ryan softly inquires whether he has ever done it with a guy, Seth can't help but wonder what'll happen now, and then later. Are they going anywhere with this, and if so, where?

He sounds like a girl in his own mind, but Seth has never been one to have normal thoughts, for all the good that ever did him.

So, naturally, the question slips out. "So, now what?"

He can't quite bring himself to look Ryan in the eye after asking that question.

"Well, we can go fuck in the bedroom, or we can fuck right here, or in the kitchen, or in the shower—which isn't my favorite place, really, but still, it's a possibility—or we can take it slow and see where it goes."

Seth feels his cheeks burn—and fuck if that's not the least mature reaction he has ever had when faced with the real possibility of having sex.

"Er, yeah," he finally manages, eloquently.

And to think that his Dad wanted him to join the debate team in high school.

What a wonderful asset Seth would have been…

"Yeah to what?" Ryan asks, and Seth relaxes a little, because obviously, even though Ryan is having a little fun at his expense, that fun isn't mean-spirited in the least. "Bed, shower, kitchen? Or yeah to the waiting part?"

"You're messing with my head, aren't you?"

"Yes and no," Ryan replies, which confirms it.

Ryan is probably just trying to make it easier by laying down all the options on the table, and that's good.

He hasn't kicked Seth out yet, he hasn't flat out refused anything, he's just careful, and that's very… Ryan-ish.

………………………

As for many other things in his life, Ryan has rules when it comes to sex.

Always use condoms, because he really doesn't need an unplanned pregnancy, or a STD.

Nothing kinky with someone he doesn't know and trust—male or female.

When sleeping with a guy, never bottom, because he tends to freak out when he tries it, and he doesn't want to bring back to the surface unwanted memories.

Never, ever, stay the night when it's someone he doesn't know, because he doesn't want his partner to get the wrong idea.

His first night with Seth is a quiet affair—there's no in-depth discussion, no questioning about the right moment, no real build-up. Simply, they meet, eat Chinese, start kissing in front of a movie, and one thing leads to another.

Seth gasps and bites his lip and clenches the sheet, the pillow, writhing under Ryan as Ryan pushes into him, gently at first, then more roughly.

Ryan grunts, bites Seth shoulder, hard enough to mark but not hard enough to really hurt him, muffles his own cries into a pillow because he was never a loud lover—that must be rule number nine or something; don't wake the neighbors.

Ryan comes a few seconds before Seth—who, big surprise, is rather loud in bed.

"Wow," Seth says when Ryan collapses next to him, catching his breath.

Ryan nods, spent. "Yeah."

"Cool," Seth adds, and Ryan might be offended by Seth's lackluster description of what they just did, if he hadn't noticed that Seth tends to run out of words when he's overwhelmed.

"Yeah."

"You ever going to say anything else?"

"Yeah," Ryan replies, chuckling.

Seth nods, leans on an elbow, smiles down at Ryan, and Ryan knows what Seth's next words will be before the other man opens his mouth.

"So, was it—"

"God, don't say it!" Ryan says, half-laughing, half-horrified.

"—as good for you as it was for me?"

Ryan reaches behind him, grabs his pillow, and smashes it on Seth's face.

"No clichés in this bed," he warns.

That's rule number eleven.

* * *

Thanks for the reviews! They're all very much appreciated :) 


	7. Chapter 7

**Title** : Fork In The Road

**Author **: Helen C.

**Rating** : R (M)

**Summary** : AU. Dawn never left in the Pilot, and Ryan came back to Chino for a while. Years later, he and Seth meet in Los Angeles.

**Spoilers** : Everything is fair game.

**Disclaimer** : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Josh Schwartz. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Eternal gratitude to my beta, Joey51.

* * *

This is a Ryan/Seth slash story. If it's not your cup of tea, please be responsible and don't read.

* * *

_Chapter Seven_

As per usual, Seth is already waiting in front of the TV when Ryan comes home.

It has been three months since their first night together and Ryan still feels simultaneously unsurprised and astonished that Seth still keeps coming, still keeps calling, still wants to see him.

Try as he might, Ryan still waits for the other shoe to drop—sometimes, it feels like he has spent his entire life waiting for things to get from bad to worse, and he wonders if he'll ever stop feeling that way. He doubts it—he has spent years in Austin, and he's still surprised when Michael calls him to check that he's fine. He has spent three months seeing Seth every day, and he still expects that eventually, one day, he'll come home and Seth won't be there.

"You okay?" Seth asks, following Ryan when he heads straight for the bedroom.

"God, that was a fucking awful day," Ryan moans, flopping on the bed and laying there, head buried in the pillow.

If he has anything to say about it, he won't move again until tomorrow morning, and perhaps not even then.

"Bad day at the office, then?" Seth asks.

At Ryan's grunt, Seth goes on, "Wow, you're doing your Neanderthal. Must have been worse than just bad."

Ryan turns his head a little so he can answer, "Three guys home sick with the flu, big boss on the site, and _lots_ of heavy lifting for everyone."

His back is killing him, he has had a headache for hours now, and he thinks his legs will soon make him pay for the workout he gave them earlier.

"Harsh," Seth sympathizes. Ryan closes his eyes, enjoying the silence that follows.

"So, does that mean no sex tonight?"

This time, Seth sounds truly sad and disappointed, and Ryan laughs silently for a few seconds. "I'm glad you find me so irresistible that you can't even go one night without," he says. "But, well..."

Seth pouts, lying down next to Ryan. "Bad boss of yours," he says. "I'm gonna have to file a complaint or something."

Ryan nods. "You do that. I'm sure he'll be delighted to know that he needs to cut me some slack so I can satisfy your needy nature at night."

"Needy nature?"

"Hey, I'm not the one begging," Ryan points out.

Seth studies him for a moment, before nodding to himself. "Okay. No, I see how it's going to be."

"Huh?" Ryan asks, a little worried by the strange gleam in Seth's eyes.

Seth seems to have a plan, and Ryan has heard enough stories to know that Seth's plans are usually worry-worthy.

"Seth, please, tell me you weren't seriously considering filling a complaint," he groans.

"Next best thing," Seth states proudly, wiggling his fingers at Ryan. "Massage."

"Seth…"

"And I won't even try to have my wicked way with you later," Seth adds brightly. "'Cause I'm selfless."

Ryan would shake his head, if he hadn't vowed not to move until tomorrow.

Only Seth…

Still, he has to admit, ten minutes later, Seth knows how use his hands to good effect. Ryan can feel the painful knots in his back untying under Seth's fingers, and he can't stop a soft moan.

"Told you I was good," Seth says.

"You said no such thing," Ryan retorts. Seth's hands leave his back, and Ryan hurries to add, "But yes, you're good."

Seth goes back to his massage, talking softly. "Magic fingers, I'm telling you. From now on, I'll just go by Fingers Cohen. No, wait, that's a terrible name. Huh…"

"Seth?" Ryan says, eyelids drooping.

"Yeah?"

"Less talking more rub—Ah!" he yells, as Seth attacks a particularly tense spot. Suddenly, Ryan doesn't feel so sleepy anymore.

"I think you're more vocal now than you ever are during sex," Seth says.

"Hm," Ryan replies, blushing softly, thanking heavens that Seth can't see his face.

Unsurprisingly, Seth straddling him with his hands on his back, and sporting an obvious hard-on, makes Ryan review his previous statement about not wanting to move.

Which, clearly, was all part of Seth's devious plan, and the strange gleam suddenly makes sense.

"Seth?"

"Yeah," Seth says, and there's a smile in his voice.

Ryan sighs. "Remember when I said no sex tonight?"

"You said no such thing," Seth points out. "You just implied it."

"Yeah, well…" Ryan stretches under Seth. "Keep that up a little while longer, and perhaps…"

"Great," Seth whispers victoriously. "But, just so we're clear, I _am_ writing to your boss anyway."

"Don't talk about my boss _now_," Ryan growls.

"Good point."

………………………

"Don't you ever wish your life was different?" Seth asks one night.

Ryan's hands, which had been tracing lazy circles on Seth's stomach, cease their movements at Seth's question. Seth fights back the urge to beg Ryan to continue. Not that it's unpleasant in the least, but if Ryan goes on, one thing will lead to another, and they haven't left the bed since this morning, and they have taken three showers already—Thank God for Saturdays—and Seth kind of wants to have this discussion, now.

He has been thinking about it a lot, lately—about what he wants to do with his life, and how slowly he's getting there.

"Why?" Ryan asks at last.

Seth makes an effort to avoid sighing.

He likes Ryan a lot, but it's always such a battle to have a discussion with the guy.

It seems like Ryan always analyzes Seth's motives before answering any given question, and even when he does answer, he gives very little away. Seth assumes that Ryan is just trying to protect himself, and he understands that, but he still wishes that Ryan would be more open. Besides, he has to admit that after all this time, it hurts a little that Ryan feels the need to protect himself from Seth.

"I don't know," Seth says.

Ryan leans on an elbow then, his hand resting on Seth's chest, looking patient and curious.

"I kind of wish I was a world-famous comic writer," Seth admits. "Or a successful novelist. Or, you know, just… successful at anything, I guess."

"You're only starting to work," Ryan points out. "You have time to get famous."

Seth nods, thinking that it doesn't really help him to know that, not when his boss is an insufferable pain in the ass who likes to torture the youngest members of the team.

"Yeah, but… I guess I'm just wondering, that's all."

Ryan sighs and lies down, putting his hands behind his head, and Seth shakes himself from his depressed thoughts long enough to enjoy the show.

Ryan has obviously been working shirtless recently, if his toned skin is any indication.

And even though Seth wouldn't wish all the heavy lifting Ryan does on anyone, he can't deny that Ryan's muscles certainly make for a great view.

"Sometimes I wish I could build things," Ryan says. "Really build them, I mean—designing the plans, and supervising everything, instead of just _doing_ it."

"Yeah?" Seth asks, glad that Ryan is talking.

"I guess I'd like to be able to leave something behind—something that people will still use, will still remember, long after I'm not here anymore."

Seth feels himself nod before Ryan even stops talking. "Exactly," he says. "Writing a book that'll get world-wide attention, or building huge houses that'll serve as shelter for several families… that would be…" He trails off.

Ryan sighs softly. "Nothing wrong with our ambition," he says. "I guess that's something."

"Sure," Seth agrees. "And don't you ever wonder what your life would be like, if you had made different choices, at some point?"

That's yet another thing that has been bugging Seth recently—would he be happier if he had learned to appreciate Newport, as his dad seems to have done? Would he be happier if he had given up and accepted his place in the Newport Group, instead of fighting tooth and nail to make a name for himself in the comic industry?

Would he be happier, if he was anyone but Seth Cohen?

And what would Ryan have become, if he had been able to use all his potential, instead of having to hide and to keep a low profile for so long that he now seems unable to go back to living in broad daylight?

When Ryan doesn't answer, Seth adds, "I wonder sometimes, what would have happened if I had ever asked Summer out. Or if I hadn't gone to the East Coast for College. Where would I be now?"

After another long stretch of silence, Ryan finally says, "I guess I wonder, sometimes, what would have happened. Not if I had stayed with my mom, because I'm pretty sure that wouldn't have ended well. But, what I would have become if I had found a friend to let me stay the night, when she kicked me out."

"Yeah," Seth says, thinking that perhaps, his dad would have found Ryan then, and helped him.

"But, I don't think my life would be better now," Ryan adds. "Perhaps the cops would have found me, perhaps I'd have spent two years in a group home, or in foster care, you know?"

Seth refrains from saying that no, he doesn't know—he has never known anyone who didn't have a family to rely on, not even in college, and he still can't imagine what that must be like.

Days like this, when he allows himself to think about it, Seth is really happy that this Michael existed, and took care of Ryan.

Days like this, he thinks that his parents, at least, love him—and while he doesn't agree with the way they forced him to stay in Newport, he supposes it's still better than getting kicked out at sixteen.

"But it's useless wondering," Ryan adds. "We'll never know for sure, anyway."

"I know," Seth replies. "I just think about it sometimes. Everyone does, right?"

"Right."

"I was just trying to have a discussion."

Ryan raises an eyebrow, putting his hand on Seth's chest. "Didn't you like what we were doing?" he asks.

Seth gulps. "Yes," he says, hoping his voice isn't as squeaky as he thinks it is. "Yes, I did."

"Good," Ryan says, maneuvering himself until he's straddling Seth's thighs. He takes a moment to look at Seth, serious and gentle. "One day, you'll be a world-famous author," he says.

It sounds like a promise, and Seth believes it then, because Ryan knows a lot of stuff and he's not the lying kind.

Then, Ryan leans down and starts to suck Seth's nipples, and all thoughts about being famous flee Seth's head.


	8. Chapter 8

**Title** : Fork In The Road

**Author **: Helen C.

**Rating** : R (M)

**Summary** : AU. Dawn never left in the Pilot, and Ryan came back to Chino for a while. Years later, he and Seth meet in Los Angeles.

**Spoilers** : Everything is fair game.

**Disclaimer** : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Josh Schwartz. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Eternal gratitude to my beta, Joey51.

* * *

This is a Ryan/Seth slash story. If it's not your cup of tea, please be responsible and don't read.

* * *

_Chapter Eight_

The first cracks start to appear during the fourth month—after the first fight they have, over a mug that slipped out of Seth's hands and shattered on the floor of Ryan's kitchen, coffee spilling everywhere.

Ryan is more than willing to admit that a broken mug didn't warrant the fifteen-minutes shouting match that followed, and that really, it was just an accident and Seth didn't do it on purpose.

He doesn't even know why he makes such a big deal out of it, doesn't know why, suddenly, he sounds like his mother and Trey when they were stoned and they wanted to pick up a fight.

_"Fucking hell, Seth, can't you be a little more careful! It's not like I have hundreds of these to spare!"_ he yells at some point.

And, a little later, "_You're always sorry. And I'm asking you, be more careful, okay?"_

And then, as he feels a headache starting to build at the back of his skull, "_Fuck, just leave, okay?"_

But Seth doesn't leave, Seth shouts back at him, and eventually, Ryan comes back to himself, realizes that he's being irrational and that Seth looks a little freaked.

It feels like he's back in his house in Chino, after one of those violent arguments that tore his family apart, and he tries to resist the urge to run into the shower and scrub his skin raw, to dislodge these remnants of his past that won't leave him alone.

"I'm sorry," he says.

Seth looks both bewildered and understanding, and takes Ryan's arm to lead him to the bedroom—"_Leave that stuff, I'll clean up later_"—and they have sex and Ryan manages, just barely, to avoid crying.

"I'm sorry," Ryan says again when they're done.

"It's okay," Seth replies. "Just… I'm sorry too."

"It's okay," Ryan says, thinking that it's not okay in the least, that he hates that side of himself, the one that makes him throw tantrums for nothing, the one that makes him want to punch walls or doors or people sometimes, and that he needs to work so hard, all the time, to keep under control.

He keeps wondering morbidly when he'll finally snap, when he'll finally lose control and lash out at someone, and how far he'll go then, and what will happen to him.

He doesn't want to become like the people he met in his childhood—people who keep destroying everything they touch, who don't even care about what kind of damage they leave behind them—but he doesn't know how long he'll be able to keep himself under control.

………………………

Things settle down again after that.

Seth seems to forget about the incident, Ryan is extra careful, pretty much all the time, and they talk less than before, but they still sleep together every night.

On the surface, nothing seems to have changed.

Ryan tries to tell himself that it's stupid to feel like something has broken, tries to tell himself that their relationship is the same as it was _before_, but he knows it's not.

He knows it's only a matter of time now, before Seth finally realizes that Ryan is too much to handle, only a matter of time before Seth meets someone who will be more attentive, less damaged by life—someone who doesn't feel like he wasted every single opportunity he ever had, someone who will be more gifted at comforting, someone who will be more… well, _more_ than Ryan.

………………………

Seth tells him about the phone call, on a gray Saturday morning. "Mom called, she wants me to go to Newport this weekend for a charity event."

"Okay," Ryan says.

He only ever went to one of these parties in Newport, and he barely remembers it. He merely has a few flashes of wealthy, sophisticated people, of alcohol and of light conversation. He remembers fake laughter, and he remembers he had never felt more out of place before in his life.

"I'd like you to come with me," Seth adds, and Ryan feels his heart speed up.

"I don't think—" he starts.

Seth raises a finger to silence him. "Hear me out."

Ryan takes a deep breath, and listens. _It's the least he can do_, he thinks. He can at least let Seth say what he wants, before explaining why there's no way in hell he'll ever go back to Newport.

"My parents would be overjoyed to see you," Seth says. "Really. I mean, I'd have to prepare them, obviously, but… and, really, people wouldn't know who you are. We can introduce you as…"

He trails off and Ryan supplies, "As the cousin from the East Coast?"

He doesn't know if he should be insulted or bitter or just amused by the whole thing, so he settles for a mix of all three.

"Or as a good friend of mine," Seth says. "Just to cover all the bases, you know?"

"Seth, I'm… I don't want to do that."

Seth sits up in bed and looks down at Ryan. "I never want to go to these things either, dude. That's why I'd like you to come." He smiles. "I could make it worth your while."

"Oh, really?"

Seth nods, lies back down, his hand slipping under the covers, reaching for Ryan's left hip—right where he's the most ticklish.

"Seth, no, that's not playing fair—"

But Ryan is laughing too hard, and half-heartedly fighting off Seth's hands, and for a while, he forgets about Newport.

………………………

Much later that night, Seth says, out of the blue, "I think it's too soon to come out to my parents yet."

They're in the dark, Ryan can't see his face, but Seth sounds young and not very sure of himself.

"I don't know," he says carefully, trying not to start yelling at Seth that yes, it's too soon, and that he shouldn't come out on Ryan's behalf, because it's not that serious yet, surely not, Ryan would have noticed if they had entered the let's-meet-the-family stage.

"I think. I just… I'd like them to know, but, perhaps later you know? That we're… together."

That's how they say it, because Ryan doesn't like to call themselves a couple, an item, friends with benefits, or anything at all.

Ryan doesn't like to put labels on his relationships, partly because he doesn't like labels as a rule, partly because words never come without strings attached.

Being a son to Dawn meant being responsible for her, meant carrying her through her life, because she couldn't stand on her own, and the task almost killed Ryan.

Being a brother to Trey meant having his back even when he was wrong, meant helping him, even when it was crazy, meant ending up in jail because of a stupid car that wouldn't have made their lives any better, even if they had gotten away with stealing it.

Being a boyfriend to most girls he has dated meant being dependable, being the shoulder to cry on and the nice guy who fixes problems.

He doesn't like thinking of himself as someone's… anything. He's just Ryan, and Seth is Seth, and Michael is Michael.

Who cares who is what for whom?

So, they're not each other's boyfriends, they're not significant others, they're… together.

Ryan wonders if Seth is worried about the fact that it's so non-committal.

"It's up to you," Ryan tells Seth, hoping Seth will make the right decision—assuming there is a right decision to make in this case.

"Later," Seth says. "I'll tell them, but later."

Ryan tries not to sigh in relief.

………………………

"So, honeymoon over with whoever you've been seeing?" Sean asks the next day, as Ryan is busy hammering nails—and using the hammer with all his strength, as if he had a score to settle with it.

"What?"

"Don't play dumb," Sean says. "It doesn't suit you."

Ryan sighs, sets the hammer on the ground and wipes his face on his T-shirt. "I never said I was seeing someone."

"You didn't have to. You suddenly stopped coming with us after work, and quite frankly, Ryan, you've obviously been getting some."

Ryan lets out a startled laugh. "Right. I didn't know I was this obvious."

"Well, you are. So, trouble starting already?"

_Yes_, Ryan wants to say. _He wants me to meet his family, whom I already met once, long ago, when I was no one. And it has been years, and let's face it, Sean, I'm still no one. And I don't want to do it, and I'm not sure I want us to be more serious than we've been so far. I suck at relationships, Sean, badly so, and I should have remembered that before I let Seth enter my life. I should have remembered that before we reached the point when he wanted to come out to his parents, because there's no way in hell I can let that happen._

_I need to end this, and I don't want to, and it sucks, and I don't have anyone to blame but myself._

_So, yes, definitely trouble starting already_.

"I'm sorry," Sean says, bringing Ryan back to reality. "I shouldn't have asked."

"It's okay," Ryan says. "Just… it's not going to work."

Sean frowns slightly. "You sure?"

Ryan closes his eyes briefly. He has thought a lot about it, ever since their first fight.

Every time he tries to picture himself and Seth, three years down the road, all he can see is a Newport party, and people looking at him condescendingly, and patting Mrs. Cohen's hand with commiseration, _"So sorry your son brought that man home. You must be so disappointed."_

He can't even picture Seth in Austin, in Michael's middle-class house, eating Alicia's food instead of take-out.

Sean is still looking at him, worried, so Ryan nods. "Yes. Reasonably sure."

"I'm sorry," Sean says again.

Ryan tries to smile, but he finds it too hard so he just shrugs instead. "Me too."

………………………

As soon as he arrives at the construction site on Tuesday, he goes tell his boss that he's leaving town. "Will four days notice be enough?"

"Sure," the man says, looking slightly concerned. "Problems with someone on the team?"

"No," Ryan reassures him. "I just need a change of scenery for a while."

"You already know where you're going?"

Ryan doesn't have any plans, but hears himself reply, "Las Vegas." As soon as the words have left his mouth, he thinks, _Why not?_ He needs somewhere to go, and Vegas is as good a destination as any.

His boss nods. "I know people there, if you want a job, I can make some calls."

"That'd be great, thanks." Ryan smiles nervously and gets to work, trying to keep focused on what he's doing.

For the next two days, Ryan listens as Seth rambles about next Saturday, about the tux he'll rent for Ryan, about how his parents will be glad to see them both—"_I told them I was bringing someone, but I didn't say it was you_"—and Ryan feels like the worst asshole in the world.

On Friday, Ryan tells Josh and Sean that he'll be leaving town over the weekend. Josh looks hurt, Sean looks hurt and worried, and Ryan can't meet their eyes, so he goes back to his work, according more attention to the concrete than he needs to.

"We're taking you to the bar tonight," Sean says, as Ryan gets ready to leave.

It takes Ryan five minutes to convince Sean that he won't leave until Sunday morning, that the drinks can wait until Saturday.

"You'll be hungover for the trip," Sean points out.

"I don't care."

Sean looks disappointed, and Ryan stomach churns painfully.

If Josh and Sean make him feel this bad, what will happen once he's done with Seth tonight?

………………………

He was expecting to have to find a pretext to pick up a fight with Seth, but in the end, it's Seth who starts it, and Ryan hates that he's relieved.

When he gets home that night, Seth is sitting at the kitchen table, and there's a scribbled note next to him and a beer in his hands.

"Hey," Ryan says.

He sees Seth's jaws clench. "Hey."

There's a tense silence, that Seth finally breaks. "So, the phone rang and I picked it up. It was your boss. He wanted to give you a few numbers you can call once you're settled in Las Vegas."

"Oh." Ryan sits in front of Seth, trying to catch Seth's eyes, to know if he's more angry than hurt or the other way around.

"You're not coming back, are you?" Seth asks.

"No," Ryan replies, and his throat clenches when he tries to swallow.

"Were you even going to tell me?"

"Yes. Tonight."

Seth raises his head then, and Ryan is unable to stand that hurt look so he starts staring at the wall.

"That's all you're going to say?" Seth asks.

Ryan sighs. He doesn't have excuses. He planned this, he planned to dump Seth and to skip town, he quit his job and booked a bus ticket, and he doesn't have an explanation that would make Seth feel better, and "sorry" isn't enough.

He still says it, though, because what else is there?

"Yeah," Seth says, his tone sharp and bitter. "I just… I don't get why you're leaving."

"Me neither," Ryan whispers. "I just…"

_I'm scared._

_I'd rather we break up now, when we're not too close, when we're not too serious, because it'll be harder if we wait, and we don't have a future together, and surely, even you must see that._

_I can't meet your parents, not today, not ever. They'll look disappointed, or disgusted, or pitying, and I don't want that._

_I just need to go._

_I _need_ to._

"Could anything I say make a difference?"

Seth's tone is subdued and sad, and Ryan feels like crying, but he doesn't.

He never does.

He leaves, he avoids, and when he gets hurt, he hides and waits until he feels better, but he doesn't cry.

"No."

Four months together, which is the longest he has ever spent with anyone, and that's probably the shortest break-up scene he has ever lived.

"I'm sorry," he says, again.

"Me too," Seth says. He gets to his feet, knocking back his chair, which falls to the ground. "I guess I should have seen it coming."

He leaves, without a goodbye or a glance backwards.

Ryan sits at the table for about half an hour, waiting until he feels like he can stand up without breaking down.

When he does, he picks up the fallen chair and rights it, then he calls Sean, and tells him he needs to get drunk tonight, after all.

"Are you all right?" Sean asks delicately.

Damn the man and his damned intuition, he should have called Josh.

But of course, Josh is a terrible chaperone, and would certainly end up more drunk that Ryan, and who would make sure they got home in one piece?

"Yeah," Ryan says. "Sean?"

"What?"

"No questions, okay?"

"Sure," Sean says, and he seems so eager that Ryan almost smiles.

"Thanks."

………………………

Sean takes Ryan out, drives him back and makes sure there's a bucket in Ryan's reach before leaving.

"I'll come by tomorrow," he promises. "Josh too. To say goodbye."

Ryan wants to tell him not to, that goodbyes hurt and he sucks at it, but he's too drunk to be that articulate, so he just grumbles, and Sean pats his shoulder gently.

On Saturday, Ryan packs everything he wants to take with him—which isn't much. His clothes, a few books, three Cds. Everything else can stay here.

Ryan has always traveled light.

Then, Josh and Sean come by, as promised, and they drink again, and Ryan tries very hard not to wonder what Seth is doing.

Is he in Newport yet?

Has he told his parents about Ryan?

Has he told them that Ryan has been irrevocably damaged by what Dawn did to him, that he has become a coward, and that he can't stand being with someone, and that he's an asshole for not even warning Seth that he was leaving?

Is Seth okay?

Is he still mad at Ryan?

"Ryan?" Sean asks.

"Hm?"

"If you ever need anything, if you ever come back in town, call me, okay?"

Ryan wants to tell Sean that he's not worth all this trouble, but as usual, he can't find the words.

"Thanks," he says.

Because, when he doesn't know what to say, Ryan relies on politeness.

* * *

Many thanks for the reviews 


	9. Chapter 9

**Title** : Fork In The Road

**Author **: Helen C.

**Rating** : R (M)

**Summary** : AU. Dawn never left in the Pilot, and Ryan came back to Chino for a while. Years later, he and Seth meet in Los Angeles.

**Spoilers** : Everything is fair game.

**Disclaimer** : The characters and the universe were created and are owned by Josh Schwartz. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Eternal gratitude to my beta, Joey51.

* * *

_Chapter Nine_

_Four months later_

It's a typical Newport event, Seth thinks. Snobbish, superficial, a giant advertisement for Botox and Zoloft.

People who smile at each other, before figuratively stabbing each other in the back.

He hates this—every time he comes to one of these parties, he remembers why he left this town. He has never understood how his mother could be so fond of them. When he was younger, he just chalked it up to the strange ways of adult women, but now, he's totally baffled.

He may have had his differences with his mom, but she's a tasteful, elegant, sincere woman, and he doesn't understand what she gets out of these gatherings.

When he sees Taryn coming his way, Seth frantically looks for an exit. The woman has been downright insistent ever since Seth has hit eighteen, and he doesn't know how he could be clearer than, "For God's sake, get your hands off me, woman!" as he once yelled when he was drunk and she made a grab for him.

Thankfully, no one was around to witness the scene.

He's not sure he'd ever have lived it down.

Slipping through the nearest open door, Seth stumbles on the patio, and as usual, stops and stares at the poolhouse, thinking about past days and missed opportunities.

This damn poolhouse always makes him introspective, always makes his dad look more somber.

But he won't tell anyone about Ryan, he made a pact with himself and he intends to keep it.

There wouldn't be any point anyway. Ryan is not doing anything stupid or illegal; he's as safe as anyone can be, and he did that all by himself, which impresses Seth, who sometimes feels like he can barely cross the street without causing some sort of disaster.

Ryan doesn't need help anymore, and has made it clear that he would resent any attempt made in that sense.

His dad's voice startles Seth. "You okay, son?"

Seth smiles sadly, accepting the bottle of beer his dad is handing him. "Sure. Just, you know… not used to all the piranhas anymore."

"I'd tell you it's your own fault for not coming here more often, but, yes, I understand why you don't come more often. God knows I'm still trying to find excuses not to get involved in these things."

Father and son sit on the ground, near the pool, and sip at their beer.

It would be the ideal evening, if there wasn't a party in the house—a party they'll have to get back to, eventually.

With luck, Taryn will have found another victim by then.

"You've seemed sad," Seth's dad says. "For the last few months…"

Seth easily translates that into "for the last four months."

Four months since he and Ryan broke up—or, rather, since Ryan left town.

"Yeah, well…"

"Complicated relationship?" his dad asks, compassionately.

"No," Seth replies truthfully.

Because really, the relationship he had with Ryan wasn't complicated. They fucked, and once Seth tried to take it up a notch, once he decided he wanted something more meaningful, it exploded in his face, and now it's done and over with.

He has had ample opportunities to think about it ever since, and he finds, quite often, that he doesn't regret it.

He doesn't regret running into Ryan again—and hey, the man did save his life—he doesn't regret having sex with him, and he doesn't even regret trying to convince Ryan to come to Newport with him.

After all, Seth, for once in his life, took the initiative, and while it didn't work out as he had hoped, that's still something he can feel proud of.

The only thing he regrets is not putting up more of a fight when Ryan left. Perhaps he should have tried harder, but for a moment, he had been scared of taking a risk, scared of admitting that what they had was important to him, at the risk of being mocked or dismissed, and so he didn't say anything.

He doesn't think it would have made a difference, but he still wishes he had tried—and isn't that the story of his life?

As his dad still seems to be waiting for an answer, he elaborates, "Just, you know, broken-off relationship. Singular."

"You didn't say anything," his father exclaims, worried.

"It really wasn't that bad," Seth explains. "Nothing to worry about."

"Who was she?"

Seth bites back the _he _that wants to escape. If he ever decides to settle for life with a man, then he'll do his coming out. In the meantime, what his parents don't know can't hurt them.

Sure, they're liberal and former flower-children and all, but still…

It's much better this way.

He doesn't need to see his mom struggling to adjust to the situation; he doesn't need his father hugging him, telling him he loves him, making an effort to show how open-minded he is.

He doesn't want to answer, "No one you know," because he's sure he won't be able to pull _that_ lie off, so he doesn't answer anything, merely shrugs and smiles and drinks his beer, hoping his dad will get the hint.

His dad does, and they both stay outside for a while, mentally psyching themselves up to go back inside.

………………………….

"Thank for coming," Michael says as Ryan sits next to him on the couch, a beer in hand. "Natalie was very excited."

"I noticed." Ryan shoots a distracted glance to the TV before turning back to Michael. "She's growing up fast."

Michael smiles proudly, then starts talking about how great his daughter is, and about all the things she has learned since Ryan left. Ryan smiles and nods in all the right places, but half his mind is still preoccupied by the talk he knows is coming.

Ryan's life has reached an all-time low recently, and he suspects that Michael has guessed that he's not doing as well as he claims when they talk on the phone.

He has never felt more alone in his life, and while he keeps telling himself that it's better this way, that he doesn't deserve to be involved with anyone since he can't help but screw up, the last four months have still been hard on him.

He has to admit it; he's becoming everything he despises—unable to commit to anything, unable to empathize with others, unable to accept that, maybe, there are people out there who care and worry about him. Like Dawn before him, Ryan hurts everyone he cares about to protect himself—a selfish, destructive behavior that has led him to hurt Michael and Seth and pretty much everyone who has known him for more than five minutes.

Ryan hates himself and he knows very well that he can't go on like that because if he does, then Dawn and AJ and his father will have won. They will have made him an image of themselves, unable to commit to anything or anyone but himself.

Ryan has spent his life resisting that, and he knows that it's is probably the most important thing he will ever do—find a way to put the past behind him, find a way to learn from his mistakes and those of his family, before he finds himself at forty, still single, and with nothing but his work to look forward to.

He needs to make some changes in his life.

The only problem is, he doesn't know where to start and, oh, yeah, he's scared to death—of rejection, of disappointment, of failure, of pretty much everything at this point.

Michael has stopped talking and is watching him worriedly. "Ryan?"

"Yeah?"

"Why did you leave LA?"

Ryan sighs. Well, he knew this was coming.

Now, he can follow his gut feeling and pretend that nothing happened and that he's fine, or he can fight his instincts and, well, start making changes.

Ryan takes a swallow of his beer, stalling briefly before he starts telling the story. He summarizes things in the most simplistic way he can think of, and it doesn't take him long to finish. Somehow, saying it out loud makes everything seem that much worse, that much more stupid, that much more pathetic.

When he's done, Michael stays silent for a long moment, and Ryan stares at the game on the TV, unwilling to make eye contact.

"Oh, Ryan…" Michael says at last.

"Yeah. I know."

If Ryan was good with words, if he could weave them like Seth, like Alicia, he'd explain to Michael that Seth deserved better, that he ended up being collateral damage in the war Ryan was waging against the legacy of his family.

But Ryan isn't good with words, everyone knows that, so what he says is, "Fuck, I'm screwed up."

Yeah, well, at least that sums it up nicely, doesn't it?

"But it's not like we didn't know that, is it?" Michael says, his teasing tone and his playful wink almost masking the worry in his eyes. Almost.

"Yeah, well, now it's official."

I left town, Michael. Again. What the hell is wrong with me?

But Ryan knows what the hell is wrong with him—he expects people to leave him, always, and he doesn't need to be Freud to know where _that_ comes from.

Seth's words still haunt him.

_"Could anything I say make a difference?"_

Nothing Ryan told Dawn made a difference, she still left him, and it's not exactly the same, but it's not that different either.

Ryan still can't think about the night when AJ abandoned him without wanting to stop—stop feeling, stop thinking, just… stop.

And now, he has given up; he's not blind to the point of not seeing it.

Michael sighs deeply. "Alicia and I… We're not your parents, we're not family, and we don't have to tell you what to do. But I need to say this."

He stops talking and the silence stretches, forcing Ryan to meet Michael's gaze.

"We're always afraid that one day, you'll just stop taking our calls. That you'll move to another town again, and that we'll never know what happened to you."

"I'm sorry," Ryan says. Even after all this time, he still has a hard time truly believing that anyone cares about him. It's not fair to Michael and Alicia, he thinks, to care about someone like him—someone who's too scared to accept their love, someone who can't bring himself to reach out to others.

"We'd like you to consider moving back to Austin," Michael adds. "We miss you."

"I don't know," Ryan says.

Except he does know.

He hates his life in Las Vegas, and he hated Los Angeles, except for the few months he spent with Seth. The closest he ever came to feeling good was when he still lived here.

Ryan thinks about Seth's face that last day, when Seth realized that Ryan would leave no matter what.

He thinks about his little apartment in Las Vegas, and about the lonely days he spends there, with no friends and no one to see but his colleagues.

He thinks about last Christmas—when he was too drunk to even make it to the bathroom on time and got sick on the floor next to his bed, in true Dawn fashion.

He thinks about the number of times Michael has told Ryan that he would always be welcome in Austin.

"No pressure," Michael says, as if he had read his mind. "You know you're always welcome here. Think about it." Ryan darts a look his way as Michael adds, "We'd love you to come back."

Ryan has to admit that he's fucking tired of being alone all the time.

Sure, leaving people before he can be left may seem like a winning strategy, but in the end, it still hurts, and he still ends up alone.

He has spent a few hours today playing with Natalie, and it reminded him of how much he wants a family of his own.

He can't imagine not getting married, somewhere down the line.

He can't imagine not having kids of his own, and not just because he's probably the only Atwood who can still do it.

He wants his life to be more meaningful than it is right now.

He doesn't want to wake up all alone, in a town he doesn't know, for the rest of his life.

He wants a family.

"Ryan?"

Now, he just has to gather enough courage to do something about it.

"What do you think?"

Ryan's voice is barely a whisper when he replies, at last, "Yes."

* * *

THE END

* * *

Thanks again, everyone who reviewed:) 


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